


Carbonell's Fine Italian Dining

by IfIToldYou7



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky is an adorable idiot, Bucky makes pastries, Everyone is a chef, M/M, that one twitter post that was like 'yes chef' is a gender neutral pet name, tony is a chef
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IfIToldYou7/pseuds/IfIToldYou7
Summary: After years of running his mothers restaurant into the ground, a betrayal lands Tony Stark in the hospital. He decides that enough is enough, fires his entire staff and vows to make a difference. Enter Bucky, a pastry chef who makes sure that he doesn't forget to eat and Steve, who keeps his life together. Together, with his new staff, they must restore Carbonell's name and make some damn good food while they're at it!I'm not great at summaries, but its super cute, I swear.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 39
Kudos: 220





	1. Promise me pt. 1

Chapter 1

“Are you okay? You look like you’re about to faint.” 

“I’m fine.” Tony bit out. 

He wasn’t. Pepper could tell, but Tony had been under so much stress lately that she didn’t want to push her luck. This was the first time in weeks that her boss had sat down with her as the operations manager, and Pepper had a lot to discuss. 

She cleared her throat. “Thank you for meeting with me.” 

Tony could barely hear her. He could barely breathe through the pain spreading on his chest. His fists clutched the arms of the large chair he sat in. He had originally bought the chair for the meeting room because it was large, and insanely comfortable, and it made him feel important. Now, it threatened to swallow him whole. Tony felt small. And broken. 

He nodded. “Proceed.” 

Pepper eyed him strangely. “What’s wrong?” 

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.” His voice quivered. Pepper tucked the pen she had brought out back into her purse, and fixed her large eyes on Tony’s face, searching. 

“It’s been over five minutes since we’ve both been in this room and you’ve said less than twenty words this entire time.” 

The pain was burning now. Tony had his head pressed up against the back of his large arm chair, anchoring him so the rest of his body didn’t move. The edges of his vision were starting to blur. He wanted to hold out-For Pepper-For the restaurant, but his body was making it clear that it wasn’t going to happen. 

“You’ve got me.” He choked out. “You’re right. You should absolutely call an ambulance. But first, Pep- Love of my life,” 

Tony reached out to grab Peppers hand, and she stared at him, wide eyes creasing in confusion. 

“-Tony, You’re scaring me.” 

“Fire Stane. Fire Everyone. Gut the restaurant and hire an entirely new staff.” 

Pepper shrank back slightly. “Not that I don't agree, but where is this coming from-” 

“Promise me.” Tony was blacking out now, He was sure of it. Usually when this happened, there were copious amounts of alcohol involved, not searing, unbelievable amounts of pain. 

“Tony I-” 

“Pepper, I know it sounds crazy. After this, I will let you ignore me and do anything that you see fit to run this place, but get rid of him. Get rid of all of them.” His grip tightened on Pepper’s hand. “Promise me!” 

“I’ll take care of it.” 

“Promise.” Tony slurred.

He was already unconscious when Pepper answered him back. 

  
  


Tony woke to beeping.

His head felt like it was filled with the weights that he bought last year on a whim and now had serious regrets about not lifting them. His fingertips felt fuzzy. At least he was warm. 

His chest. 

His chest felt numb, which was better than the alternative. Slowly, his senses came back. The room was dim, with the orange light of a small lamp in the corner illuminating light blue walls. The bed he lay in was comfortable, but much too stiff. The blanket on top of him was a pale brownish, and splotchy in random places. A tacky block print chair sat in the corner. 

“Oh.” Tony breathed, his voice hoarse and deep. “I’m in a hospital.” 

A voice hitched a breath next to his side. “I know you don’t like hospitals.” Pepper said. “I hired someone to paint an accent wall so the first thing you saw wouldn’t be white. And I found a lamp in the maternity ward, because I know the fluorescent lights make you self conscious about your complexion.” 

“And they didn’t have anything other than white blankets so I got as much coffee as I could from the cafeteria and stained it myself.” 

Her hair was a mess. Tony reached out and smoothed it with his hand. “I was wondering about the blanket. It smells like the inside of a starbucks. I’m keeping it by the way.” 

Pepper smiled and grabbed Tony’s hand to turn her face into it. “I expect nothing less.” She dropped his hand and leveled him with a look, suddenly serious. 

“You have a hole in your chest.” 

Tony grimaced. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Tony, you could have died! Why didn’t you go to the hospital immediately.” 

“I don’t do hospitals.” 

“Well you were about to ‘not do’ life!”

Silence. Tony hated when things were too quiet. “Did you do what I asked?” He asked softly. 

“There are cameras all over the restaurant, Tony. Stane has already been arrested. I just don’t understand. Why did he do it?” 

“Does anyone need a reason for homicidal rage? I’ve almost done the same thing a couple of times. Do you remember Amanda? I wanted to take that saucepan out of her hands and just-” 

“Amanda was the worst.” Pepper interrupted him, nodding. “Stop deflecting.” 

Was he deflecting? For Tony, it was an automatic thing, like when someone sneezes and normal people reply with ‘Bless you’, except that he would respond to traumatic memories with compulsive drinking. But wasn’t that what everyone did? 

“Stane,” He began slowly after a moment, “Did not think that I was capable of running Carbonell’s. So, when I wouldn’t agree to sign over the company, he…” 

Pepper could gleam the rest. She cleared her throat. 

“Everyone has been fired. The Restaurant will be closed for one week for renovations, and then have a grand reopening. I’ve already hired your new staff, and as far as upper management goes,” She took a large breath. “It’s just you and me.” 

“Perfect.” Tony said, his head reeling with the information. “Wait, How long have I been out?” 

“One week.”

“A whole week?!” 

“Look Tony, the burns and knife wounds were really the least of your problems. Your liver was barely functioning, and both your cholesterol and blood sugar were through the roof. You had to be placed into a coma, just to get you stabilized.” 

Tony didn’t have anything to say to that. Now that she mentioned it, he did feel lighter. He had a bit of energy, the real kind like the hour after he first woke up on a good vacation, not the manufactured, energy drink kind that gave him heart palpitations. 

“You have to start taking care of yourself.” Pepper said. “Promise me.” 

Tony flinched. The ghost of a knife slicing through his skin. The loud bang of the walk in freezer door slamming. He remembered how cold his fingers felt once he finally pried himself free. How hot it was inside the Kitchen. Stane had tried to burn the place down with all of the gas burners on high. 

Tony had no idea that Stane had been embezzling money until he took a look at the expense reports for the first time that year, two weeks ago now. He hadn’t even been managing the kitchen. No wonder they had lost an entire michelin star. 

It happened underneath his nose and Tony had let it. 

“Promise me.” Pepper said again.

“I promise.” He flashed her a grin. “But I also promise that if I stay in this hospital any longer, I will actually break out into hives.” 

The next couple of days were honestly a lot for Tony. He was alone most of the time, but when there were people around, they handed him form after form to sign. At least it was Pepper. If it were anyone else handing him things though, he wasn’t sure if he would have survived it at all. 

Pepper didn’t want to let him get into things so suddenly, but it was hard to keep a bored Tony Stark occupied on anything that wasn’t his restaurant. 

His restaurant that he let go to hell in a handbasket because he was more focused on riding the fame of being a 3 star restaurant instead of living up to the Carbonell name. 

If his mama were here right now, Maria Stark, née Carbonell- their Family Restaurant’s namesake, she would have punched him, healing hole in his chest or not. 

“Tony, I wouldn’t have hired your new staff if I didn’t think that they were capable.” 

“Darlingest, Dearlingest Pepper, all that I’m saying is that I want to test them, just like my Ma did when I was a kid. What better way to get to know my new staff than a good old fashion family dinner with the guy who signs their checks?” 

Tony opened the door to Carbonell’s with one hand and pressed the phone against his cheek with his shoulder. He stopped dead in his tracks. 

“Listen, you told me to hire your new staff. You have to trust me. We don’t have any time to replace anyone before the grand opening.” 

He wasn’t listening. 

Everything was too different. The tables, instead of stained white napkins, were now a deep blood red, which contrasted sharply against the white table cloths. The booths and chairs were black and leather and chrome. The lights were low. The room smelled like fresh paint and new furniture and _ home. _ Someone was cooking. 

“Tony?” 

He took off his wool cloak, that very much was not a trench coat and hung it on the closest rack he could find. This was new territory for Tony. He wasn’t used to having to look for things. 

“I have to go Pepper. I’ll text you later. Bye.” 


	2. Meet the Robinsons

2

  
  


Tony walked deeper into the restaurant- _ His restaurant _ . There was a long table in the center, already set. Quick as a flash, a body darted out of the double kitchen doors, set a platter down and then was retreating before Tony could get a good look at him. 

_ Impressive. _

He stopped by the table, feeling the cloth that covered its surface. It’s satiny finish made his skin tingle.  _ This  _ was a restaurant worthy of a third michelin star. At least it looked the part, it had yet to be determined whether the food would match the makeover. Tony had certainly been to a lot of places that looked decent on the outside only for the food and staff to be a disaster. Present company and owner to be included, he supposed. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Pepper to hire the right people, but Tony had alway found it difficult to put his trust in, well- anyone. Pepper had peeled back those hard layers over the years, but Tony was still left cautious. His last staff had been grandfathered in, but he couldn’t exactly say trusted them either. They had worked with his mother. Stane was like an uncle to him. He grew up thinking- 

He took a step closer to the kitchen. The same body as before darted out and set another platter down on the table. Tony could make out his features as he paused, but only for a moment. 

“Mr. Stark!” He had an accent, slavic, but Tony wasn’t sure from where. “Please take a seat. I have strict orders to not allow you in the kitchen before all of the food is out on the table.” 

He spoke as quickly as he walked, and was in an instant darting back to the kitchen. For a moment, Tony wasn’t sure if he had hallucinated the entire interaction, but he came back over and over again to set more things down. Blonde hair. Thick, dark eyebrows. Mustache and a friendly face. 

The old Tony would have barged into the kitchen anyway, because he literally owned the place, but doing that much in the past had gotten him in the hospital with burns and gouges taken out of his chest. He smoothed down his shirt, wincing and secretly hoping that his bandages weren’t visible through his shirt, and waited. 

The blond came out with the last platter, and more people began to file out behind him, hanging up their white coats as they came. 

Short Red and Scary. 

Buff and Goofy. 

Short Red and Serious. 

Bigger, Buffer and Goofier. 

Eagle Eyes. 

Tall Dark and Scary. 

Big Blond and… Corn Fed. Like straight out of a patriotic commercial for a nebraskan field.

This was his team.

A big smile spread over Tony’s face, and he waited until the last person was seated before he sat down himself, at the head of the table. He found it both a cliche, and endearing that they would consider him even kind of a leader. Tony wasn’t so sure what his role was anymore. 

“Wow,” He said, skin starting to crawl with all eyes on him. That was a new feeling. There was no wine on the table to help him cover it up. “You all are prepared.” 

“Thats kind of the point.” Short Red and Scary said. Her face had a healthy flush as she smirked. “My name is Natasha, I-” 

“No!” Tony stopped her shortly. “Let me guess.” He eyed her shoulders, lithe, but strong muscle. “Saucier?” 

“For a time.” Natasha agreed. “Here though, I am your butcher.” 

Tony’s head spun. The blonde had uncovered the platters and began placing plates in front of them. “Way to go gender roles.” He said under his breath. 

Now that she said it, Tony could see the bulk of her forearm muscles. She could probably get a lot of leverage on a knife. It didn’t make her any less scary. 

“Remind me not to get on your bad side.” He joked, turning his gaze to the remainder of his staff. They had already dug into their food, eating politely but no less enthusiastically. He made eye contact with Bigger Buffer and Goofier, then looked at his blonde hair, tied neatly away in a low ponytail. 

“Um. Prep Cook.” 

The blonde’s permanent smile grew even larger as he wiped his face with a napkin. “You have correctly guessed.” He said loudly. “You may call me Thor.” 

Tony nodded at him, then looked beside him at Eagle Eyes, whose intense gaze had lessened as he ate.

“Swing Cook.”

“And saucier.” He was quick to add, with a bow of his head. “The name’s Clint.” 

Buff and Goofy snickered beside him. To be fair, Clint had perfect pronunciation, but this was for all intents and purposes a family dinner, and the laughter relaxed Tony slightly. 

“Roast Chef.” 

“Sam Wilson.” Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest. He had a great smile. And the neatest beard. Tony really only paid attention to his facial hair on special occasions. He was almost jealous.

“Before you start,” The other red head began, “I am the hostess. I only cook for the people I love.” 

“That’s because no one else besides Pietro wants to try your eastern european food, Wanda!” Sam said with a laugh. 

“What?” The blonde waiter said next to her. “It’s good food!” 

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him, but Wanda cut in before she could say anything in her defense. 

“Maybe if you weren’t such a culinary pussy, you’d be able to enjoy ethnically diverse cuisine. The entire world has more to offer than chicken nuggets, you know.”

Sam laughed harder. The table hissed in sympathy around him. “I make a mean roast and you know it!” 

“Settle Down everyone.” Big and Blonde said. Eyes, bluer than the bottom of a freshly lit gas burner. Good gravy, did he buy shirts that small on purpose? Tony was both afraid that his biceps might rip the fabric and terribly hoping that they would. 

“Head Chef.” Tony said. 

The table erupted in laughter immediately. 

“Way to go Steve!” 

“Didn’t even make it hard for him did you?” 

Tony didn’t realise he was smiling until his cheeks began to hurt. “It’s nice to meet you, Wanda and Steve-To meet all of you.” 

“Patissier.” A deep voice came from his right. Tony hadn’t noticed that Tall Dark and Scary had chosen his seat beside him until that moment. He tensed, but quickly schooled his features. Then he processed what the man had said. 

“Patissier,” Tony repeated. 

“His name is Bucky.” Steve said. “And as you can tell, he doesn’t say much.” 

Tony risked a glance at him. Bucky’s mouth slid into a slow smirk. Tony stared at his lips a moment too long. He cleared his throat. 

“Alright Everyone. I think that you are all talented, if this food is anything to go by.” 

Honestly, Tony hadn’t given the food much more than a glance, too focused on not making an ass of himself, which hadn’t been as tough as he thought it would be. 

“But…Now, I want to know what you think. Honestly.” 

“With all due respect,” Natasha said, “You just replaced your entire staff with strangers, and we open the restaurant in five business days. Are you insane?” 

“Certifiably so.” Tony said. “Are you worried?” 

She shrugged. “I’ve done more with less. Are you?” 

Absolutely. “No.” 

“There are spices that have been there since the eighties.” Clint said. “And they’re too basic.” 

Tony’s hands started to shake at the prospect of new recipes. Is that what his mother 

would have wanted? No Maria had been ferocious in the kitchen, both in the restaurant and at home. She was always trying new things, experimenting with a big smile on her face no matter how well the food turned out in the end. It was Howard that was stuck in his ways. Everything Tony had ever done since his death had been a big ‘fuck you’ to his father. Why stop now?

“Send an email to Pepper with a list. We’ll have them overnighted.” 

“Those knives are ancient.” Natasha spoke up again. “The steel is bad. Rusted in random places, It doesn’t make sense.”

“Do you have a maker in mind?” Tony asked, and Natasha smiled widely. Tony wasn’t sure that he trusted that smile. It suited her face too well, making her unmistakably radiant to be talking about sharpened metal. She nodded. 

“The wine list is both outdated and nearly depleted.” Steve said. 

Ugh Wine. How could Tony have forgotten about the wine. It was one of his first clues that something had been off in his restaurant in the first place. Entire cases of vintage  _ Tenuta dell’Ornellaia _ were just missing, and they hadn’t been bringing in nearly enough cash to justify it. 

“Which we can’t do anything about until the menu is finalized.” he continued. 

Of course they needed a new menu. Tony was beginning to sweat. 

“Right.” Tony said, finally. “Send your lists to Pepper and we will do our best to make sure that it’s all there by tomorrow. I want to see all of you here like… Ugh. nine am? Is that cool?” 

“What about clean up? None of the bussers are here.” Clint said. 

Tony waved his hand to dismiss the thought. “I’ll handle clean up tonight.”

Sam was already standing. He clapped Thor on the back and pulled him into a hug. The rest followed suit after an awkward moment, but Steve stayed seated beside him. 

“Is it really that bad?” Tony asked. Steve almost hurt to look at. He had never seen blonder hair and bluer eyes this close before. He watched his lips move as he spoke. 

“No. But this place does need a lot of work.” 

Yeah. Tony sighed and folded his fingers together, leaning them against his lips. “Alright. You too, Get out. I’ll see you at seven.” 

Hopefully two hours would be enough to salvage… Something. Anything. Steve rose from his seat and with a reassuring hand on Tony’s shoulder, left the restaurant.

Tony had done a lot of miraculous things on two hours of sleep, three pots of coffee and a bunch of money thrown at a project, but this. Tony didn’t know how the hell he was going to pull this off. His chest hurt, but he wasn’t sure if it was from the panic setting in or the very real burns and lacerations on it. 

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t see the table slowly emptying before him. He watched the ground as heavy black boots walked from the table to the kitchen and back again. He stood as the doors to the kitchen swung closed, and brought his untouched plate to the kitchen. 

The kitchen surfaces had been cleared already, and piles of slick pans waited to be cleaned. Bucky had stacked the plates from next to them on the large sink, and was now hovering near an alighted burner.

He had taken his hair out of the loose bun he wore during dinner, but it was only the two of them in the kitchen at the moment, so Tony didn’t comment. Bucky didn’t look up at Tony when he spoke. 

“You didn’t eat.” 

Tony stopped suddenly. The deep timbre of Bucky’s voice was loud in the space. 

“I ate before I got here. No one told me there was going to be a family dinner.” It was a lie. For some irrational reason, Tony couldn’t bear to take a bite of the food that Pietro had set down in front of him. It felt like a betrayal. 

“It was a surprise, that was the point.” Bucky’s hair slid out of his face as he looked up at Tony. There was an empty space on the counter next where he stood over the stove, and Tony hoisted his body onto it and slumped. He got a sudden flash of a memory, when his ma had set him down in a similar way so he could watch as she made dinner. Except that tonight, he felt small. 

“Do you think that they like me?” Tony didn’t know the dark haired man, but with the smell of the warming food that Bucky was handling, Tony felt like he could ask him that at least. 

“I think,” He replied, taking the pan off of the oven with the handle wrapped in a towel and quickly producing a fork. “That if you lead, they will follow.” 

Bucky scooped a bite on to his fork and held it up to Tony’s mouth. “Grilled chicken on a bed of Parmesan Gnocchi and spinach.” 

Tony reached to take the fork, but Bucky pulled it away from his grasp. 

“It’s hot.” He said simply, still holding the pan in one hand. 

Tony rolled his eyes. He was a cook. His fingerprints had long since been burned off, but he allowed his eyes to finally focus on the food infront of him. 

_ Well, here goes nothing.  _

He closed his eyes and opened his mouth. The flavor of the food exploded on his tongue a moment later. Soft, tender pasta, It was so important to get the texture just right, and they had nailed it. 

“Woah.” He said. Bucky only hummed in response and scooped another bite onto the fork, stepping further into Tony’s space. 

Tony opened his mouth obediently this time. There was chicken in this bite, light and peppery. 

“Why didn’t you eat with us? Pasta tastes better fresh, you know.” Bucky set the pan he had been using on the cold burner beside Tony, but didn’t step out of his space. He made Tony eat another bite before he’d let him answer. 

“Nerves I guess.” Tony looked at his knees. “I’ll have you know that there is a lot going on behind the scenes that none of you know about.” 

Bucky raised his intense gaze to meet Tony’s eyes. He was too close. Tony could smell the kitchen on his skin, and beneath that, something spicier and clean. 

“I’m sure.”

Had his voice always been that deep? Tony was going to have to commit that to memory. Those two words shouldn’t have made his stomach flip like they had. 

He cleared his throat.

“Why didn’t you make anything?”

“Hmm?” Bucky hummed placing another bite of food in front of Tony’s lips. 

“No meal is complete without dessert.” 

With the pan mostly empty, Bucky placed it aside, but didn’t make any move to step outside of Tony’s personal bubble. 

“Sam used up all the butter.”

“We ran out of butter.” Tony said incredulously. “This restaurant is in more disarray than I thought.” 

“It’s not that bad.” He smirked. 

“Yeah, Yeah.” Tony said. “Now get your buff ass out of the way so I can clean.” 

Bucky didn’t move. He slid his palms against the counter on either side of Tony’s thighs, and leaned in close. 

“You’re thin.” 

Tony’s face heated. He had lost more than a couple of pounds while he was in the hospital. His shirts hung loosely over his frame, now and his ass was significantly less plump, which Tony was absolutely devastated to find out about.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Your body won’t be able to heal if you don’t nourish yourself properly.” 

He stiffened. Tony had purposely given Pepper money to throw at news outlets so that what happened to him in this kitchen wouldn’t reach the light of day until he was ready. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’ll have to forgive me if I presume too much. But you’ve been carrying yourself as if you’re secretly a pile of hams in a trench coat. You haven’t slouched once, and you’ve been keeping your arm around your belly like a lady who's secretly pregnant, but not ready to tell anyone.” 

“I-” 

“I don’t need to know any details. What I do know is that you cannot own a company from six feet under.” 

Tony defensively lowered the arm he had been using to hide some of his torso and slid off of the counter. His chest stung where it collided with Bucky’s and he winced. He was being too nice. This was what happened when people saw someone as an easy target. Tony had done more in less health, and he did not need all of this pity.

“Tell that to Walt Disney.” He huffed and stepped around him, heading straight for the large sink and the dirty, waiting dishes. “See you tomorrow morning.” 


	3. Yes, Chef

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heres the thing. I've never worked in food service, and I probably never will, but I love to cook. SO I'm sorry if I get something wrong with food safety ect. Just know that my heart is in the right place loool.

3

It was morning, and Tony had only been away from the restaurant for a couple of hours before he had to be back again to meet the others. The new menu was… Well it didn’t exist yet, but he was working on it. Carbonell’s served traditional Italian food, but Tony was torn between using his family’s old recipes and trying something new.

He brought in the packages that were delivered overnight and left them on the closest counter he could find, then produced a binder that he had compiled all of the recipes that his restaurant had ever made. 

It was a lot. 

He found a tall stool from the side office and brought it into the kitchen. This was going to take a while. 

The back delivery door to the kitchen opened. Tony checked his watch. It wasn’t time yet. Steve was wearing a saddle tan jacket with large lapels that he had held up to protect his neck from the cold. 

“Good morning.” He said brightly. 

Tony groaned. It was an instinct. Steve was one of those people, way too cheerful in the morning. Tony hadn’t even had coffee yet, and he felt like a big slug on a rainy day.

“You’re early.” 

Steve had hung his coat up and was already digging into the boxes Tony brought in, a neat blue pocket knife in his hand. “I figured that there was some organization to be done. All this stuff that Pepper ordered for us can’t just stay in the way.” 

Tony hummed. He supposed that was something that he hadn’t considered. He turned his attention back to the binder in front of him. There was a fresh notepad beside it that he wrote notes on. 

“How’s the new menu going?” Steve began again. 

“It’s not. Not really.” 

Tony looked up at him, giving his eyes a break. Steve was putting something away in an overhead cabinet, and a sliver of skin was exposed as he reached. Tony could see taught muscle stretched over hip bones, but couldn’t scrounge up enough energy to drool. 

He never thought it could be done. He was officially too stressed out to be a flirt. 

Steve closed the cabinet he’d been working on and looked over the blank page Tony had titled  _ ‘The new-better menu’  _ in delicate, procrastinatory print. 

“Maybe it’s a good thing I came early after all.” He joked, leaning a hip against the counter and crossing his arms. 

“I thought it was going to be easy.” Tony said. “But I have no idea where to start.” 

Steve smiled. It wasn’t a tease, but his face was so kind, and his eyes so blue, that it hurt to look at. Tony looked away.

“So let’s make this simple. What was your favorite recipe?” 

“Did you just ask an Italian to pick their favorite recipe? Of all time? My Nonna made a puttanesca when I was eight that I still dream about.” 

“Fair enough.” Steve’s laugh made Tony’s stomach flutter. “We could take a look at our revenues from the past year, pull the top sellers and keep those recipes then scrap the rest?”

Tony scrunched up his nose at the thought, but wrote the note down. “Sounds boring. But that’s a good idea.”

“We still need something new. What do you think about that?” 

Tony was thinking about Steve’s biceps, where the fabric of his long sleeved shirt stretched over them where they were crossed at his chest. How the motion made his pecs more defined and—

“We’re an Italian Restaurant. People want pizza and pasta and wine. There’s a whole other side of Italian dining that most people don’t even know about.”

Steve nodded, sliding down so he could put his arms on the counter instead, and lean against them. “So give the people what they think they want.”

_ What they think they want _ … That wasn’t a bad idea.

“First we need a kick-ass marinara.” Tony said. “I always liked our sauce, but it was too traditional.” 

“I’ll have Clint work on development when he gets here.” 

“Let’s keep the Menu small and update it often. We want people to keep coming back. Maybe in the spring we can reprise favorites, but that’s more of a marketing thing.” 

_ And then we pray that people will roll with the new changes.  _

Tony realized that he didn’t even know his customer base. What if they were all older, traditional types? Tony didn’t want to alienate them. 

“What if we had traditional flavors, presented in a new way. We also need to perfect garlic bread. I would die for a good garlic bread.” 

The delivery door opened and shut again. 

Tony looked up in time to see a large body approach him and strong hands pushed his notebook and the binder aside. A glass Tupperware appeared next, the lid was taken off to reveal a steaming cinnamon roll, with saucy apple slices and orange zest on top. 

“Good morning.” Bucky’s voice was deeper this morning. It made Tony’s brain short circuit. “Have you eaten?” 

Tony had to think about it. He was up early this morning. He hadn’t had time. He shook his head. 

“What is—” 

He didn’t have time to finish his sentence before Bucky had a fork in hand and was cutting into the pastry. He held the loaded fork against Tony’s mouth, the icing stuck to his lip. 

“Open,” 

Tony’s mouth snapped open obediently. Warm. Gooey. Spicy. Was that Caramel? His eyes slipped shut, and he moaned. 

Steve made a choked sound beside him. Tony’s eyes snapped open. Bucky was smirking. He hadn’t even paused to take his leather jacket off. 

It was a lot. 

“Goddamn, warn a guy before you go shoving things in his mouth like that. I wouldn’t mind a first date either.” Tony was wide awake now. He snatched the fork out of Bucky’s hand and took another bite on his own. “Go put your things away. I swear if anyone else shows up early on me, I’m going to lose it.” 

“Aren’t you going to feed me too, Buck?” Steve snarked.

“You’ve got hands, don’t you?” 

“Oh, so only the boss gets special treatment?” 

Tony rolled his eyes. He took it upon himself to fork a piece of the roll with a little bit of everything on top. 

“Here.”

Steve had been watching Bucky with a sneer as he put his motorcycle helmet and jacket in the office. His eyes snapped over to Tony, then the fork in front of his face.

Slowly, he opened his mouth, staring into Tony’s eyes. As soon as the food hit his mouth, he shrugged. 

“It’s good.” He hummed. 

“You bet your ass it’s good.” Bucky said, rearranging his hair into a neater bun as he came over to their work station.

Tony eyed them both. “You don’t seem like strangers to me.” 

“Bucky and I went to the same culinary school.” Steve said. 

“We grew up a block away from each other.”

Well that explained all the sass. “Now that we are done acting like children,” Tony rolled his eyes and jabbed a finger against Bucky’s chest. “You’re early.” 

“I made you breakfast.” He said, falsely offended. 

“Which I appreciate. Whatever.” Tony retrieved his notebook again. “Do you have a pizza dough?” 

Bucky made a face. “What does that matter if we don’t even have a pizza oven?”

“We do.” Steve said.

“We do?” Tony asked. He wasn’t  _ that _ absent of an owner. He knew where everything was in this kitchen. He grew up here. Well, as a teenager he wasn’t allowed to be in the kitchen unsupervised due to the nature of his cooking ‘experiments’. But there was no way that he would miss an entire pizza oven.

“It’s on the patio.” Steve pointed to the door next to the delivery area. “Hasn’t been used in a while but it looks like it still works.” 

Tony’s head was spinning. He grabbed his notebook and pencil and gave it to Bucky, then replaced the pastry and fork in his hands again. 

“I’m about to say a lot of words.” He warned.

— 

Somehow, they got the menu done before everyone else arrived. Well, not officially done. They still had to make everything and do a proof of concept, then figure out plating and —

Tony sampled the sauce that Clint was working on. “Spicy. What is that? Ginger?” 

“And cardamom. More warming spices instead of just spicy, spicy.” 

“Interesting. Go on.”

“Yes, Chef.” 

That made Tony pause. He wasn’t sure if he had ever been spoken to as formally as that before. Sure, he had run the kitchen for a time, but the old staff were quite a bit older than him. They had said it to Stane though. Maybe they hadn’t respected him after all. 

“Tony, I thought that you said that we get our meat delivered on Tuesdays.” Natasha said, coming out of the freezer. 

“It does.” 

“Today is Tuesday.” 

Shit. “ Give me a second.” 

Tony practically ran to the connected office. He shrugged off his apron and winced as the motion bothered his chest. It was starting to hurt more today. He dug around for his pockets for his phone and called Pepper. 

“Hello?”

“Pepper, I thought that we had a delivery schedule for our meat, Every Tuesday right?” 

“As far as I know. Was the delivery late?”

“It never came.” 

“That’s bizarre. It’s a small vendor, a family friend of Maria’s I think.” 

“Georgiano?” 

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“I’m on it.”

“Hey, Tony—” Pepper said quickly. “Take one of the guys with you. The doctor said that he wouldn’t clear you for heavy lifting for at least a month.”

Tony froze. He couldn’t ask for help. He wasn’t ready to explain that he had been double crossed, then stabbed and burned— 

“Yeah. Got it.” 

The call ended. Tony prodded his chest with careful fingers. His knees nearly buckled from the pain.

_ Damn it.  _

He shoved his arms through his jacket and flung the office door open. He spotted Bucky near a stand mixer and went straight to him. 

“I need you.” He said seriously. 

Bucky looked up from the scale he was using to measure proper portions of flour for… Whatever it was he was making. 

“I knew the cinnamon roll would work. Should we get married now or later?” 

Tony didn’t have enough energy to be mad at his response. “Meet me outside by the delivery door. I have to go find Steve.” 

He looked around the room quickly, but couldn’t find him. Then he remembered the Pizza oven. Steve was on the patio, halfway inside the opening of a cold, modestly sized, brick pizza oven. He was right. This thing was damn near vintage. 

“Yikes.” Tony breathed. “That is an issue for another day. Hey, Steve? I’m taking Bucky on a field trip. You’re in charge.” 

Steve pulled himself out of the oven carefully. He had stripped down to a thin short sleeved, white undershirt, that was stained with streaks of charcoal. 

“Woah.” He said to the outline of Steve’s abs beneath his skin tight shirt. It would have been rude to simply ignore them.“ — Uh. We’re going to get the meat situation figured out.” 

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, wiping his cheek with the collar of his shirt. “Bucky is really more of a dessert guy.” 

“He’s perfect. If that beefcake can’t help me carry some meat, then all that bulk will surely have gone to waste. Besides, I need you here so that everything is ready to be taste tested by this afternoon, and hopefully, everyone can get home at a decent time.” 

“Let me know if he gives you any trouble.” He shrugged and turned back to the pizza oven. 

Tony met Bucky outside. He had put on his leather jacket again, and was leaning against the brick wall. His dark hair was free of the elastic that held it in a messy bun and now hung down in loose waves. He tucked a side of it behind his ear when he saw Tony. 

“Lets go.” Tony said, walking straight past him. 

“Uh— There’s a whole kitchen behind us, Can’t we just steal off to the back room and make out like a normal office romance?” 

Tony stopped, pressing his palms against his eyes. “Did I forget to say words? We’re going to go figure out why we didn’t get the meat delivery today. And I need your muscles, for obvious reasons. “ He hoped the reason was obvious. 

He started walking again and luckily, Bucky took the hint and fell into step beside him. “How far is it?” 

“If I remember correctly, it should only be a block away. On 74th.” 

“Georgianos? They’re a pretty popular supplier around here.” 

Tony didn’t know the last time that he walked anywhere. The city air was crisp and cold. The brownstones were an odd sort of familiar that made Tony miss home. He wasn’t sure where that was anymore. His parents weren’t alive anymore and Pepper was the closest thing he had to a sister, but she was always busy trying to keep the company afloat. It was a big city, and for the first time in a long time, Tony felt small. And alone. 

Bucky interrupted his thoughts by looping an arm around his elbow and pulling him in close. “It’s cold today. I always forget how cold fall is, and then every year like clockwork, I freeze my balls off.”

“New York is so close to Canada, it could be renamed ‘almost-Canada’ and no one would even notice. How could you forget about fall?” Bucky was warm. Tony told himself that was why he didn’t pull away. 

“To be fair, my mother moved back to Russia after my sisters and I graduated highschool. I studied there for a few months as a tour of european cuisine. When I got back, my accent was so thick.” 

Tony laughed. “Whenever my extended family got together it was the same. I’ve been bilingual my entire life, but suddenly I forgot entire english sentences.” 

Bucky went left suddenly, pulling Tony with him. “Woah! Where are you going?” 

“I know a shortcut!” 

He led Tony through an alley and down a street and around a corner and— They stopped at a food truck. It was bright yellow and had an awning that stretched out surprisingly far to cover their heads. 

A beautiful woman with long, white locs poked her head out of the window. “James, Is that you?”

“Ororo! Where’s that handsome husband of yours?”

“He is on a house call. A friend of ours just had a baby.” 

Bucky cooed. Tony shuffled his feet. 

“My date and I have somewhere to be, but I wanted him to try the ultimate grilled cheese.” 

_ Date?  _

“You’re in for a treat!” The woman winked, then ducked further into the truck. 

Tony pulled Bucky down to whispering height, “While I am flattered, we don’t really have time for a date right now.” 

“Don’t worry.” Bucky whispered back. “We’ll have time for a proper date later.” 

That wasn’t what Tony meant. Ororo was back with their food a moment later, handing two paper cartons to Bucky. 

“On the house.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Like hell.” He passed the food to Tony, then dug in his pockets for his wallet. He stuck a large bill in the tip jar. “Support your friends! See you next time!” He yelled, and booked it away from there before she could object. 

They huddled close to the nearest building, out of the way of the bustle of people walking to get to wherever they were going. Tony held the paper carton in his hands awkwardly. Bucky took a huge bite of his. 

“Oh mah guh,” He gushed. 

“Bucky, I didn’t take you with me so we could detour! I have a kitchen to run!” 

“Look, Sam and Natasha can’t even do anything without the meat being there. They’re all probably stopping to eat lunch too.” 

Tony eyed his pate. All this for a grilled cheese? 

“Just eat it. I swear it's good.” 

Tony took the thick sandwich between two careful fingers. Maria Stark may have raised a person with poor coping mechanisms and an alcohol addiction, but she didn’t raise no bitch. Tony needed to stop thinking. It was just a sandwich. 

An amazing sandwich. There was a thin layer of spicy strawberry jam on top, and Tony’s life was forever changed. 

“Are those bacon bits?”

“Hell yeah they are.” 

Tony indulged himself a couple more bites, but Bucky finished his quickly. 

“Georgiano’s is just across the street.” He said. 

Tony finally took a look around himself. Huh. The one time a shortcut was actually shorter than the normal way.

Inside the small storefront was a blast from the past. Tony hadn’t been there since he was a kid. Everything was still the same. Black and white checkered tile floors, a couple of red vinyl stools in the corner, and the same ancient old man behind the counter. 

The man narrowed his eyes at Tony as soon as he entered. “Carbonell.” 

“Mr. Lee, My mom married Howard Stark in the seventies. It’s always been Stark.” 

“Not with that attitude. What are you doing here? I thought you were too good for my product.” 

Mr. Lee wore a red apron under his crossed arms. His short grey hair was gelled back and neat.

“I’ve said no such thing.” Tony said. He stepped closer to the counter. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t done much of anything for the company, but all of that is changing now. “

“But— oh what’s his name. The bald fella with the creepy look— He said that my meat was making your patrons sick.” 

“That's a crock of shit.” Bucky snorted from where he had been admiring the vintage decor. For some reason, Georgiano’s was also known to serve a mean phosphate from the soda taps on the opposite side of the store. Mr. Lee wasn’t a direct descendant from the original owner, more like an eccentric family friend, but he had always been there. He scoffed at Bucky’s remark. 

“I like this guy,” 

Tony shook his head. “I’m sorry about that. He won’t be slandering anyone for, hopefully, a long long time. What do I have to do to get our delivery back on track?” 

“The wife and I would love a German Chocolate cake.” He said with a cheerful smile. 

Tony was prepared to give this man a small fortune, if only to keep him in his life longer. “I don’t know how to make a German Chocolate Cake.” 

“I do.” Bucky had stopped his perusal of the store and came to stand beside Tony. 

“I’m sure you do. Look at you, you’ve got the hands of a cake decorator.” Mr. Lee pointed at Tony. “But I want you to do it. Promise me, I’ll be able to tell who made it.” 

Tony groaned. “Why me?” 

“Why? You’re Tony Stark.  _ The _ Tony Stark. You’ve never half assed anything in your life. You care enough to wait until the last second, but you use what you got. That’s my deal. Take it or leave it.” 

This man was insane. Tony stuck out his hand and shook on it.

“Deal.” 

They left Georgiano’s with enough meat to last them through that week of test recipes and a promise of a twice weekly delivery. Tony was prepared to help with at least some of the bags, but Bucky held all of them in his arms and didn’t appear to be straining at all. 

“You said something back there.” 

“Hmm?” Tony hummed. 

“About Stane.” 

Right. Somehow, Tony knew this was coming, but after the day they had together he didn’t mind telling Bucky, at least a little bit. 

“Obadiah Stane. Renowned restaurateur and my god father.” He took a deep breath. “I was for all intents and purposes, inebriated for a couple of years before my mother died, and a couple of years after too, who am I kidding.” 

“Stane ran Carbonell’s in my stead, and up until a couple of months ago, everything was running smoothly, or so I thought. Once I confronted him about the embezzlement and fraud, he decided that my chest would be a decent candidate for a knife block.” 

Bucky’s foot stuttered where he was walking. “Shit.” 

“I’d say that’s an acceptable response. It’s not a big deal. His trial is set for a month from now, and he’s going to be put away for a long time.” 

They had reached Carbonell’s delivery door again. Tony paused at the door. “Please don’t say anything to the others. I have a business to run.” 

He couldn’t afford to be seen as weak. Whether he was or not had yet to be determined, but Tony would not be taken advantage of again. Even if it was his fault in the first place. He finally looked up at Bucky. 

There was a dark look on his face. And he shook his head, squeezing past him to get into the kitchen. 

“Yes, Chef.” 

  
  
  
  



	4. Someone needs a nap

4 

The next few days passed in a blur. The kitchen worked like the well oiled grandfather clock Tony remembered in the foyer of his parents house— one that he secretly took apart and put back together dozens of times. Clint had found himself at the end of Natasha’s accusingly pointed knife a couple of times, but Thor was always there to diffuse the tension with the promise of beer if they made it past testing with all of their limbs still attached. Wooden spoons flew when Sam cracked jokes. Bucky mostly stuck to a corner of the kitchen and worked on sweet things in secret, without letting anyone taste anything— which wasn’t  _ fair. _

Every day like clock work, Steve arrived at five am to pack away any deliveries that were made over night and organize for the coming day. At Exactly six am, Bucky would arrive— even though Tony had explicitly told him that he could come in with the rest of the kitchen staff at seven— with breakfast in hand. It was always different, a muffin packed with seeds and molasses, or a parfait with the freshests berries and crunchy granola, all neat in a glass tupperware. 

Tony’s chest—

Well, It was healing, but slowly. Pepper hired a personal doctor for him, Dr. Banner, so he wouldn’t have to go to another hospital to assess the healing and change his bandages. Yes, Tony could do it himself, but he didn’t even want to _ look.  _ He had seen so many iterations of sliced and prepared, and rare meat in the past couple of days that the thought of his own chest resembling something close to that would make him faint.

Tony swore to  _ God  _ if Tasha said the word ‘ _ fascia’  _ one more time—

And he wasn’t exactly getting the best night sleep, but he couldn’t have. He couldn’t sleep on his back, even if he tried. Tony was used to sprawling all over every usable inch of his bed like a territorial octopus, sheets mangled in his legs, and squeezing something soft. But he couldn’t do that and make sure that he didn’t bother his chest at the same time, 

So Tony was tired, and his back hurt from studying expense reports all night until his brain decided to shut off. Apparently, coffee wasn’t something he should have been chugging in copious amounts everyday and by Friday, Tony was fried.

  
  


“Good Morning, Chef.” 

Steve was as chipper as ever. Tony groaned in response. 

“That good of a morning huh?” Steve said as he hung up his jacket on the rack in the office. There were only a couple of things to be sorted today, so he just placed them on the counter and leaned against it. He hissed when he saw Tony, who was staring at the binder infront of him like the words were going to change at any moment, if only he could just  _ will  _ it to happen. 

“You look like hell.”

Tony laughed. “Thanks.” 

Steve left his organising and stepped into his space and closed the binder. TOny didn’t have enough energy to protest. 

“Why don’t we not look at the binder today. When was the last time you cooked anything? You know half of creating a new recipe is just throwing shit together and figuring out what works, not staring at one that already exists.” 

Tony perked up. “Did you just swear?” 

Steve rolled his eyes. He wore a cozy-looking, chocolate brown sweater today with black trousers, that fit tight to his sculpted thighs. He smelled like cinnamon and oak-barrel age whiskey and a fireplace on a cold night. Tony wanted to lean into his warmth. It was always so cold in the kitchen before any of the stoves were turned on.

“Do you think that you could answer a question without deflecting first?” 

Tony scoffed, raising his eyes from where they were ogling his body, to Steve’s face. He smiled. “ _ Orsetto,  _ would you expect anything less from me?” 

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his hip against the counter. Tony sighed. 

“The past week, I’ve had the most delicious leftovers from the kitchen I so painstakingly work in.” 

“That’s what I thought.” 

He stepped around Tony to fetch a couple of aprons, then forced him to stand as he scooted the stool he once sat on out of the way. 

“Don’t just stand there.” Steve laughed when Tony made no move toward his apron. 

His apron was a pale brick red, well loved and washed so that the colors slowly leached out of it over time. It was a gift. He had worn it plenty that week, but not to cook in. He blinked. Steve was in his space again, lifting his apron over Tony’s head. 

“You must be really out of it today.” Steve said lowly. The rumble of his voice was loud in the empty kitchen. 

Two big hands on Tony’s waist turned him around so Steve could tie a quick knot in the apron. 

Then, he reached above their heads and pulled down a gooseneck kettle, and a large cigar box. Inside were several small glass bottles that he pulled out and set aside. 

Steve mostly worked around him, while Tony was for most intents and purposes, a slug. He filled up the kettle from the faucet, which Tony found redundant because any self respecting kitchen has a hot water tap. 

“I like to start my day with an anti inflammatory tea, instead of a stimulant like caffeine. It hydrates and reduces swelling and well, You look like you could use a little pick me up.” 

Tony wrinkled his nose. “I thought we were going to be cooking.” 

“We will be.” Steve said. “This will take like a minute max.” He spooned herbs from a couple of the jars straight into the tea kettle, then packed everything away again, only leaving a spoon with tiny slotted holes in one of the mugs set aside. 

“See? Now we cook.” 

  
  
  


Steve assigned Tony to chop the vegetables, which was proving to be an interesting task. Tony knew how to use a knife, of course, but—  _ apparently _ it had been a while. It was slow going and his cuts were uneven and sloppy. 

“Woah!” Steve said suddenly, covering Tony’s knife hand with his own so he wouldn’t startle. “The new knives Natasha ordered are super sharp, you’ve gotta be careful.” 

“I thought I was being careful.” Tony grumbled. He set the knife aside. “Can you do it? I really don’t want to go home with cuts on my hands.” 

Steve shook his head, looking over Tony’s handy work. “No,Tony. Preparing the vegetables is a part of cooking. What kind of Chef doesn’t cook in his own kitchen?”

_ One who was attacked a couple of feet to the right and has a sprinkling of PTSD.  _ Tony thought bitterly. He probably wasn’t even supposed to be using sharp things while sleep deprived.

“You’re thinking about this too hard.” Steve said, still entirely too close. 

Tony didn’t comment on what else was hard- the lines of Steve’s muscle against his back, how hard it was to not lean into his warmth. Tony loved the cold, but he was one of those people who was perpetually chilled, even with the thickest boots. Steve was sunshine and cider and fuzzy socks on a cold night— or maybe Tony’s daydreams were sneaking into real actual life. 

“You need to curl your fingertips under like this, that way the flat of your knife glides past your knuckles.”

His big hands moved Tony’s into the proper position. This time, Tony did let his weight shift back to his heels, pressing into Steve just enough that he could play it off as accidental. 

“You want your hand right here,” Steve’s voice was low in his ear now. Tony tried to contain his shiver. “Close to the blade so you get the most leverage.” 

“I thought you were going to show me how to avoid getting cut?” 

“I’m right here Tony. I won’t let you hurt yourself.” 

He was right there indeed. Tony could feel his steady breath on his neck and was sure that he was blushing. He was glad that Steve couldn’t see the stupid smile on his own face. This was the closest he had gotten to a cuddle in an embarrassing amount of time— and it felt good to be held, or rather encased on all sides by pure, all american- 

_ Squuuuueeeeeeee—  _

The kettle. 

Steve stepped away and suddenly, Tony was wide awake. 

He was so  _ screwed.  _ As Steve turned off the burner underneath the kettle, Tony  quickly chopped the remaining vegetables, tucking his fingertips under like Steve showed him, and tried to calm down. 

Dating his staff was most assuredly against the rules. The rules that Tony had only just begun to follow.. What harm would there be if they could just kissed a little. Tony had never wanted to run and jump into someone’s arms and have them catch him until now. Damn it all.

He brushed all of the chopped vegetables into a bowl and brought it over to Steve, where he was dressing a flat pan with oil. 

“What are we even making?” Tony asked. 

“An omelette.” He answered, pausing to roll up the sleeves of his sweater. Tony’s eyes tracked the movement as it revealed inch after inch of smooth muscle.  _ Damn. _ “But first you are going to saute the veggies, and I am going to go grab a block of cheese.” 

Tony was irrationally happy at the prospect of cheesy- eggy goodness. He dumped the veggies in the hot pan, which resulted in a lovely hissing sound. Steve went to the freezer and returned with a block of cheese. He began swiftly grating it, with absolutely no regard to how it made his muscles bulge and flex. Tony stared. 

“Careful hot stuff. You don’t want to scrape your fingers. Maybe you should do it slower.” He cleared his throat and flicked his wrist to get the pan moving so the vegetables wouldn’t burn. 

“Very Funny.” Steve smirked. Up and down and then back up again and Steve’s forearms flexed and Tony couldn’t think straight. 

“The tea’s ready by the way.” Steve said. He had made quick work of the cheese, only shredding enough for what they needed. 

Tony eyed the mug on the counter. He flicked his wrist again, jostling the pan.

“It’s good. I promise.” Steve said. 

He was almost certain that he’d try anything that Steve asked him to, if he kept looking at him like that. The smug smile looked good on his handsome face. Tony abandoned the pan in favor of grabbing the mug. 

“I’ll try anything twice.” He muttered. 

Well it wasn’t coffee. But it wasn’t bad. Cinnamon, something piney and citrus. 

“Not bad.” He hummed. 

“It’s good and you know it.” 

Steve took over the omelette making from there. He transferred the cooked vegetables into a clean bowl, then got the egg ready. When everything was finished, he plated it up with a sprig of something leafy and green on top and a smear of hot sauce on the plate.

By the time everything was finished, Tony’s appetite had returned,

And the delivery door opened. 

Instead of his motorcycle helmet, Bucky was carrying a book sized cast iron pan. He was handsome in a dark green henley, with most of the buttons over his chest unbuttoned and his hair wild and wavy. He hadn’t shaved. Tony forgot how to breathe.

“Mornin’ Doll.” 

He sat the pan down next to where Tony and Steve had settled down to eat and slung a casual arm around Tony’s waist. 

“Were you about to have breakfast without me?”

Since that night at Georgiano’s, Bucky had stuck close to Tony like a shadow. If Tony went into the freezer for anything, Bucky was right behind him, conveniently there to reach above his head and get down the exact thing he had been looking for. Then there was the flirting. Well, it was only kind of flirting. With Bucky it was easy to slip into playful banter, to talk to him as if he had known him for years instead of the short amount of time it had actually been. Even if it was all an elaborate act to make the stress of kitchen life a little bit easier, Tony appreciated it.

“Never,  _ Pasticcino.”  _ Tony crooned, a wide smile spreading over his face. 

“Well, it sure looks like it.”

One thing that always surprised Tony was Bucky’s lack of personal space. Yes, they were friendly, but then Bucky went saying things like that in his growly morning voice with their noses a max of two inches away from each other. His blue eyes bore into Tony’s and the shadow of his beard changed everything about his face, making the turn of his jaw more angular and— 

“Nonsense, Bucky. You’re right on time. What did you bring me?” 

“Dutch Apple Baby. Something simple today.” 

The small cast iron pan was covered with a clear glass lid that had fogged up with condensation, so Tony couldn’t see the pastry, but he could smell it. 

“Buck, would you let Tony eat the food he made before it gets cold. ” Steve said with a roll of his eyes. 

“You made this?” Bucky asked and Tony didn’t care that the smirk on his face was teasing. “Aren’t you going to offer me a bite, doll? It’s only fair.” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “I haven’t even tried it yet.” 

“I’m sure it’s delicious. Feed me, I’m waiting.” 

Only feeling slightly self conscious, Tony cut a piece of the omelette away with his fork, dragged it through the hot sauce and held it up for Bucky to taste. Bucky really didn’t need to be as close as he was, close enough for Tony’s eyes to zero in on the pout of his mouth as it closed around the fork as his eyes dropped shut. But he was— and Tony was staring.

God, was that what Tony looked like when Bucky fed him? 

It was practically criminal. Tony didn’t think that Bucky should eat any other way without him ever. 

Steve cleared his throat. 

Bucky opened his eyes and flashed him a grin. “Good morning, Chef. ” 

He promptly took the mug that Steve had been drinking out of and took a big sip. “This is my favorite blend you make. Hell, yeah.” 

Tony busied himself with shoveling half of the omelette in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to think about Bucky’s lips wrapped around  _ anything _ , and so he could get to whatever mouthwatering sweetness that Bucky brought for him that day.

“You’re going to give Tony a cavity with all those sweets, Buck.” 

“I have good oral hygiene.” Tony said. “Besides, I’m more worried that all this food is going straight to my ass.” 

“That ain’t nothing to be worried about.” Bucky with a bold grin. 

The rest of the day passed smoothly, it was the end of the week after all. The entire kitchen staff had time to get used to each other, and was probably just as exhausted as Tony felt. But they weren’t out of the woods just yet. Pepper had suggested a soft open, where they could try out their more risky recipes and see how the kitchen functioned under pressure. It was set for Tuesday, and Tony was itching to spend some time away from the kitchen before then. He had already resolved to give his staff the weekend off so they could all get a much needed break. 

Tony was constantly — and sleepily— looking over shoulders, tasting sauces, and brainstorming. Bucky was still his shadow, but now it was from a distance since work had to be done, so he sent him secret smiles, which Tony returned with his own. Steve was even more active than Tony was. He was so good with everyone, so confident in his technique and willing to teach as well as delegate. 

Tony felt comfortable, almost content. It was a weird sensation, almost like a daydream. 

When the meat delivery arrived near the end of their day, Bucky was right behind Tony, going ahead of him in the truck to pull boxes of meat out and wheeling them into the freezer before anything could be said. Mr. Lee came around the side of the truck, squinting, though he was wearing his glasses, and wearing his red apron. 

“Carbonell!” He said, pointing a finger at Tony. “Joanie’s been asking about that cake. When are you dropping it off? My daughter’s surprising us with a visit this weekend and I already told her I’d have it.” 

The cake. Tony had forgotten all about it. 

“The cake, of course. You see I’ve just been so busy and we have a soft opening that we were getting ready for, and I sure appreciate the delivery— you didn’t have to do it yours—” He stammered.

A strong hand landed on his shoulder from behind. “Tony was just telling me all about the fresh coconut he bought for the occasion. Ain’t that right, Doll?” 

“I— Uh.”

“He was just waitin’ on me to bring a couple cake pans over. All his were too big for just three people. Tony said he’d have the cake by your place tomorrow morning.” 

Mr. Lee hummed, suspicious for only a moment longer before his mouth spread into a wide smile. “That is just wonderful. Joanie is going to be so excited when I tell her.” He turned and was already walking back to the front of the truck. “Hey I’ve gotta run, but I’ll see you tomorrow. You still got the address?” 

“I got it!” Tony yelled at the retreating man. 

The truck pulled off a half second later and Tony wasn’t sure if he had hallucinated the entire interaction at all. Beside him, Bucky was laughing. He was still wearing his white chef’s jacket and apron.

“I don’t know what it is about him, but I like that man.” 

“Well, I hope you liked him enough to lie to him. I don’t know the first thing about making a cake.” 

“Awe, Tony. I told you I’d come help you.” 

Tony turned and pointed an accusing finger at Bucky’s chest. “But you’re the one who said it would be done by tomorrow morning. That means we have to make it tonight!” 

Bucky grinned. “So we’ll make it tonight. I’ll handle the ingredients, and as long as you’ve got a kitchen, we’ll be fine.” 

“I’ve got a kitchen alright.” Tony grumbled, turning to head back inside. “My sanity, though? Jury’s still out on that one.” 


	5. It's all coming back to me now

5

Pepper called for a general status update— about the restaurant, because it was the end of the week and only a couple of days before the soft open. 

Tony was trying really hard to listen to the words that she was saying, but the car ride back to his penthouse apartment had lulled him into a sleepy, sluggish, melted brain goo sort of calm. 

“I’m actually surprised.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony mumbled, sloughing off his jacket and hanging it up on the rack next to the door. A couple of taps on the screen of his phone had Pepper’s voice bounce around strategically placed speakers that were motioned censored to come on as he went further into his home.

“Your order for the soft open is much less than I was expecting. The previous budget averaged out to at least double that when— well. You know.” 

Tony did know. He also knew that he was cold. He had reached the level of ‘sleepy’ where his body reacted to life around it before his brain could even register the movement, securing his most base needs first. So he turned on the fire. 

“What I mean is,” Pepper’s voice came from a speaker to his left. “Everything looks really good. I wanted to tell you that you’re doing a good job.” 

Tony’s shoulders were pulled tight and he could feel the beginning of an ache in his skull. He didn’t explicitly feel like he was doing a good job. Although he hadn’t stepped out of work to get drunk at an inappropriate time, the bar was really just low. He sat on the edge of his couch and kicked off his shoes. 

“You know what I could go for right now? Steve made me this tea. It was like Cinnamon, orange peel— something. A Christmas candle in a cup. You know how I’ve always wanted to— “

“Drink from a melted candle jar? Yes. God Tony, you worry me every time you say that.” 

She sighed. 

“Wait a minute. Did you say tea? You’ve never drunk any tea that I’ve made you.” 

“Your mildly hallucinogenic meditation tea is nowhere near the amazingness that was in that cup.” 

“That may be true, but you should really meditate Tony, it’s good for you.” 

“I do meditate.” 

“I don’t think staring into space counts.” 

“Shows what you know.” 

She laughed. Tony missed this. He missed Pepper. She was far too busy running his business— and his life— for them to hang out like they used to. 

“How’s your staff? Do you like them?” 

“Well, Natasha hasn’t stabbed anyone yet. Though she may after the soft open, who knows. And Clint made the best marinara the other day. I swear he just throws shit in a pot and prays.” 

Tony had been coming to work in button ups because they hid his bandages a little bit better than his normal band tees. The downside though, was that they pulled at his tender skin, the soft fabric a little bit too rough. 

“And the others?” 

“Thor’s laugh is so loud I can feel my ribs rattle. He and Sam are the biggest pranksters I’ve ever met. One time Sam got there before him and rearranged the entire fridge— which Steve then made him put back. It was so dumb.” 

He moved to the bedroom, where he picked out his biggest, most vintage, nearly threadbare shirt and put it on. His suit pants came next, and were replaced with tapered sweatpants. He could breathe. 

“Ah yes. How is your head chef?” 

Tony thought back to that morning. Steve pressed up against his back. Steve shredding cheese, and making tea.

“Well, first and foremost, I would like to commend you on your choice in men. Were the biceps just for me?” 

“I figured your head chef had to be someone who is strong enough to man handle you when you get out of line.” Pepper joked. “Tony, half of the head chefs in New York are muscle heads. I want to know how he’s doing.” 

“Steve, he’s,” Perfect. Muscular. “Good. He keeps the kitchen in line. Honestly, if it weren’t for him and Bucky, I’m sure I would have had a panic attack in the middle of the kitchen by now.” 

“Oh, Good.” She sounded relieved. 

“Pepper, I’m hurt.” 

“No, Not you. Steve and Bucky. I didn’t know this when I hired them but— “

“They’re childhood best friends? Yeah, they told me.” 

“No. They are professional rivals. Five years ago, Steve and Bucky were up for the same position at Shield, in downtown?”

“Fury’s the head chef. That place is impossible to get a table at. They’re booked out for months. Even for me!” 

“Fury chose Steve over Bucky, and according to my records, Bucky hasn’t worked in a michelin rated restaurant since.” 

They seemed fine earlier that day. Although, it did seem like Bucky wanted to claim Tony’s taste buds for himself with all of the promptly delivered breakfast pastries. Sweet but not too sugary- the balance was always incredible. And Steve, well he was patient and took the time out of his head chef duties to give Tony a refresher on knife skills. He was level, steady. 

“So what made you hire him?” 

Pepper sighed. “I took a chance. Rhodey took me on a date where I had the best slice of black forest cake I’d ever had in my life. I would have been stupid not to. ” 

“Fair enough. They’ve both been great actually. Bucky brings me breakfast every morning. We’re actually baking a cake together tonight.” 

“Sounds like a date.” 

Now that he thought about it, it did sound like a date. Baking something sweet with a beautiful someone was practically rom com material.

“It’s nothing like that. Mr. Lee— you remember Mr. Lee, right? The only way he would agree to restart our meat shipment was if I agreed to make a cake for his family.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“But I don’t know how to make a cake. So Bucky offered to show me.” 

“Right. Well. Have fun on your date.” 

“Not a date.” 

“All I’m saying is that you two could make out a little bit and I wouldn’t even say a word about it. I know you want to.”

Tony sighed. “I’m hanging up now.” 

“Love you too.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

Okay. Tony was warming up. He was fully dressed, but his feet were still cold. He ducked underneath the couch to retrieve the fuzzy slippers that he had left there the night before and slipped them on in time for his doorbell to buzz. 

_ Shit.  _

He thought he had more time. Time enough to shove a snack in his mouth at least. His door bell sounded again, followed by the tinny voice of his strategically placed speakers. 

“ _ You have a guest.”  _

Tony ignored the machine and ran a hand through his wavy hair a couple of times before stopping. This was his house, damn it. Bucky would have to deal. Tony knew he looked good with sex hair anyway. With one last deep breath, He opened the door.

There he was, tall, ripped and handsome and smirking like he always was. Bucky was carrying one of those crates that you put in your car to stick all of your costco groceries since they don’t give out any bags, along with a couple of sturdy cloth, reusable bags on either arm.

“Hello, Beautiful,” 

Tony narrowed his eyes at the man, but stepped aside to let him in. “All this for a cake?” 

“Well,” Bucky began. He quickly surveyed the room and headed straight for the kitchen.

“I figured that we could make the cake first then, make dinner while it’s cooling. Two birds one stone kind of thing.” 

That...was incredibly thoughtful. “Fine.” Tony said. “I guess I won’t be ordering Take out. But I will have you know, Splendid Diner? On the 34th? To die for. ”

“I’m sure.” 

Tony tried hard not to think about how nice Bucky looked in his kitchen. He hadn’t changed from that morning— probably didn’t have time to and get all the groceries that he had brought with him. His hair was loose and wavy from the bun that he’d worn all day, and he’d brought his own apron. Tony scoffed.  _ Nerd.  _

“Cakes are mean sons of bitches. They will fight you every step of the way.”

Bucky said, unpacking the crate that he’d sat on the counter. “Which is why you need a damn good recipe and stick to it. 

Tony’s kitchen was large and open. There was one big island in the center, finished with a marble top. The sink and faucett were off to the side, and on the other wall was the stove with a hot water tap above it in the middle. It was perfectly functional, yet Tony didn’t find himself cooking there these days. It was nice to see someone in his home kitchen again. He settled against the island, laying his torso across it lazily as he watched Bucky. 

“Contrary to what the food network might tell you, you have to measure by weight, not cup measurements. Baking isn’t like making pasta. You can’t just toss in ingredients until your ancestors whisper their ancient wisdom to you.” 

Tony snorted. “My ancestors haven’t steered me wrong yet.” 

Bucky looked up from his unpacking and leveled Tony with a smirk. “Don’t just stand there and look pretty. Go set up your stand mixer.” 

Ice blue eyes stared into chocolate. Tony’s brain stopped working for a moment. That jawline could stab him through the fucking heart, and he’d be fine there bleeding out all over the kitchen. 

Reign it in. 

He stood up, immediately regretting stretching out on his kitchen island. For a moment, it had felt good to finally relax, but now his chest burned. He winced. “Yes chef.” 

If Bucky saw Tony’s reaction, he didn’t show it. He had set his scale up with a glass bowl and sieve on top of it. 

“Careful Tony. I’ll have you address me as nothing but ‘Chef’ all night.”

“Oh, you like that?” Tony giggled as he brought the stand mixer over to where Bucky was. 

“I do.” 

“Well, don’t get used to it. This is still my kitchen.” 

Bucky laughed and shook his head. “The recipe’s right here. Measure out all of the dry ingredients in this bowl, and all of your wet ingredients in the stand mixer.” 

“Aren’t you going to help?” Tony asked as he stepped in front of the scale and flour.

“I thought this was your kitchen.” He replied, leaning against the opposite counter. Tony could already feel his eyes on him, and it made him rethink his casual attire. 

“Besides,” He continued. “Mr. Lee was very specific when he said that you had to make the cake.” 

Tony sighed.  _ Whatever.  _ He began measuring out his dry ingredients, but was stopped by a flurry of fabric being wrapped around him. Tony flushed immediately. 

“Tell me,” Bucky began, his voice a low rumble in Tony’s ear. “Who’s idea was it to get you this apron.” 

He slipped the halter top over Tony’s head and tied it snuggly in the back. The apron was a gag gift from Rhodey one christmas, and Tony hadn’t once thought about throwing it away. It was well made, black and ruffled underneath with a pleated white waist apron on top. 

“Give me a spin, doll. Let me see you.”

Tony sighed. And turned. “You didn’t see the other, perfectly normal apron hanging right next to it?” 

Bucky had crossed his arms over his own apron that he’s brought with him, and with one hand swiped over his mouth to hide his smile. 

“I thought this one might suit you better.”

“Don’t laugh at me!” Tony snapped, turning back to the recipe and the flour. This was his house. Nobody laughed at him in his own house. “You can get out right now and I’ll figure it out on my own. And I won’t give your bowls back!” 

“M’not laughing, doll.” Bucky stepped beside him and placed a careful hand at the faux waist that Tony’s apron gave him before it ballooned out towards the bottom. “I think you look real nice.”

Tony didn’t have the brain power to respond to that. “Whatever.” He grumbled. 

He made quick work of measuring out the flour by weight, which was new, but fine. He could see how the cup measurement could be inaccurate, but what did that mean for every pastry and pizza dough he’d ever made? 

“This next part is my favorite.” Bucky said as he retrieved butter and sugar from his crate. 

“You could have asked me if I had butter here.” 

“I could.” Bucky said, “But this one is from a creamery in upstate. You’ll see.” 

The room temperature butter went into the stand mixer, along with sugar and vanilla, and Tony watched as it mixed together and formed into a paste. Bucky stopped the mixer once he felt it was done and dipped a spoon into the fluff. 

“Here.” He held it out for Tony to taste, who put it in his mouth with no hesitation. 

“Oh my god.” He moaned, closing his eyes. “That’s dangerous.” 

Bucky bit his lip to stop the smile that was forming on his lips. “Best part of cake making. Now we add everything else.” 

Tony didn’t see any reason why they had to continue.

“Oh, before I forget, can you brew up a pot of coffee?” 

There was an app for that. Tony pulled out his phone and tapped on the app that had a bluetooth connection to his coffee maker. Seconds later, the quiet rumbling of steamy water through coffee grounds could be heard. 

Bucky smelled the air, then looked at Tony who hadn’t moved an inch. “Who would have guessed that Tony Stark had a smart kitchen?” 

“If you could wake up at the ass crack of dawn and have your coffee ready before you even left your room, you’d never have it any other way.” 

“I’ll have to try it sometime.” Bucky said. 

That was flirting. That one was definitely flirting. Tony looked up to search Bucky’s face, but he was already pulling more things out of the crate.

Maybe Pepper was right. This was a date.

“Hold out your hand.” Bucky said. 

“What?” 

“Just one hand, over this bowl, and spread your fingers.” 

Tony held his hand over a smaller glass bowl. 

_ Crack. _

“Did you just crack an egg in my hand?” 

Bucky was laughing. “Yolk goes into the butter and sugar, we’re saving the whites for later.” 

“Why is it warm?” 

“It’s fresh.” He replied, still cackling. 

Tony quickly dumped the egg into the bowl, more sad that he couldn’t steal more of the heavenly mixture now that it was tainted than at the fact that his hands were dirty. 

“You could have warned me!” 

“What fun would that be?” He said, flashing a grin. 

Maybe it wasn’t a date after all. Bucky cracked another egg and another until they were all in the stand mixer and turned it on. Then he held up the bowl of egg whites. 

“See? No yolk.” 

Tony wasn’t sure he understood. “Congratulations?” 

“You’ll see. Do you have an extra bowl for your stand mixer?” 

“What, do you?” 

Bucky shook his head and rolled up his sleeves. “Looks like we’ll have to do this the old fashion way.”

He scanned the room quickly, and grabbed a whisk. He poured more sugar into the egg whites, then got to whisking. 

Tony stared.

“The best way to do this is to go side to side. I don’t know why, but it works.” 

“Uh-huh.” His eyes hadn’t left Bucky’s arms. Hot. Bucky was hot and Tony was an absolute goner. He didn’t know if he wanted to lay in those strong arms by the fire and listen to all the techniques and things he knew about pastries or climb him like the giant tree that he was. 

What Tony did know was that he was confused. A month ago he was sitting alone in his apartment, sad and drunk. The truth was that he wasn’t the man that they depicted in the tabloids, and he hadn’t been for a while. There were plenty of women fawning over him at galas, but Tony didn’t care about them anymore. Once he stopped searching for validation, and all the glitz that came with it, Tony figured out that none of those people actually cared about him either— and that.. had been hard. 

The truth was, now that they had returned, Tony didn’t know what to do about all these feelings he was having.

“You shouldn’t stare at fella with those pretty brown eyes like that. You’ll start giving me ideas.” Bucky winked from where he was still whisking. The mixture was starting to look frothy and firm. 

“Oh, I’ll be giving you something.” Tony said reflexively. He immediately regretted it. 

“Yeah?” Bucky challenged, his blue eyes smoldering as he sat the bowl down. His eyes trailed a slow path from Tony’s hips back to his eyes. 

“Uh- The—” Tony stammered, blushing up to his ears as he looked for a good way to recover. “A cup of Coffee?” 

Bucky’s face fell. “Shit. Grab the bar of chocolate in there and give it a good chop.” He looked through the cabinets in the kitchen until he found another bowl and brought it over to the island. 

Tony did as he was told, grateful for the distraction. Meanwhile, Bucky poured out a measured amount of coffee, and when it was ready, swiped the chopped chocolate into the warm bowl and mixed it until it was smooth. 

He dipped a finger in to make sure that it wasn’t too hot, and immediately stuck it in his mouth to catch the fallout. With his other hand, he dumped it into the mixing bowl. 

He was good at this, Tony thought. 

Bucky’s cheeks hollowed as he sucked his finger loudly and whistled low. “Damn that’s good.” 

He swiped a finger through the remnants in the bowl and held it up. Tony didn’t make a move toward it. 

“What? My hands are clean.” 

The world around Tony slowed. He knew that it was an invitation. He knew that if he  _ licked  _ the chocolate off of Bucky’s finger, that there was no going back. He looked into Bucky’s eyes. 

They were soft and sweet. Not teasing, but kind. He started to withdraw his hand, mouth open, to not let it go to waste. 

But Tony grabbed his wrist. He looked Bucky in the eyes and covered the finger with his mouth. He could taste the coffee, but it was barely there compared to the flavor of the chocolate and the taste of skin on his tongue. Bucky grinned. 

“It’s good right?”

“You know it’s good.” He huffed. 

It was good. And Tony was fucked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy Ya'll, sorry this took so long to put out. But hey! In the next chapter, our boys will make dinner and have even more sexual tension. THe DrAma. The chapter title is Celine Dion.   
> kisses.


	6. Chasing Pavements

5  
  


The cake was in the oven, and now Tony had no excuse but to face the man beside him. 

“We don't want to disturb the oven too much. My old boss had a superstition about cakes falling from loud noises and it stuck with me.” Bucky had said. 

So Tony poured them both a cup of coffee and pulled the short stools from underneath the kitchen island for them to sit. He thought he’d be more nervous. He thought that it would have made him uneasy to have someone else in his space after having to hide himself away for so long— and then there was his chest recovery, which brought up an entirely different set of trauma responses. Other than coffee jitters, he wasn’t nervous at all.

Maybe it was because Bucky sat on the stool in Tony’s kitchen as though he’d been doing it for years. One elbow propped up against the island, with the coffee cup in hand while the other sat on his lap. His legs were splayed wide, and one heavy boot was hitched on the stretcher of his seat. 

Had Bucky always been so large?

Tony guessed that he had noticed every time the chill on his back had been eclipsed by a warm body whenever Bucky would stand too close in the kitchen. 

Tony supposed he also noticed how large the man was every time Bucky would stretch his long arms above Tony’s head to fetch whatever it was that he needed that day from the walk-in at the restaurant. He was large, but he fit. Tony groaned. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever be able to look at his own kitchen the same way once Bucky left for the night. There was a secret part of him that hoped he might spend the night. 

“What’s the matter, Doll?” Bucky asked softly. 

Tony flushed. “Uh— Just thinking about the soft open.” _Nice recovery._ “ Do you think we’re ready?” 

“Hmm.” Bucky’s voice rumbled. Tony’s mugs were either small, or Bucky’s hands were impossibly large, like the rest of him. His long fingers curled around the middle of the cup and ended on the lip, the ceramic handle be damned. He paused a moment to take a sip. Tony watched him swallow.

“We won’t know until we get there.” His voice was honey over roasted coffee beans, rough and sweet. The cake. They were being quiet for the cake. “But I trust Steve. He’s done a lot to coordinate us so far. And, Besides, there can’t be any growth without a little bit of stress.” 

“The soft open isn’t a little bit of stress. It’s a whole lot of stress.” 

Bucky grinned. “Sounds like a helluva lotta fun to me. “ 

Tony hid behind his coffee mug. “So you trust Steve?” 

“Officially?” Bucky starred up at the ceiling and sighed. “Yeah I guess I do.” 

“But wasn’t he the reason you haven’t worked in a proper kitchen since— “ 

“A proper kitchen? Say that again while I bake circles around everyone in New York.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Tony flushed, his eyes darting all over the other man’s face to see if he was actually bothered, but Bucky was still grinning. His blue eyes lazily trailed down Tony’s form, to his waist, where he had tied the stupidly frilly apron just a tad too tight. 

“What did you mean then?” 

Tony sucked in a breath. “Pepper said that something happened between you and Steve. I didn’t know and I don’t read tabloids, because they give me heartburn. So...” 

“What’s the matter, Doll?” Bucky teased. “ You look nervous.” 

“I’m not nervous.” He was quick to reply. “ I just…” 

The caffeine buzzed through his system. 

“You should really stop deflecting.”

The smirk slid off of Bucky’s face. He sat his coffee mug down and turned to Tony fully. The steely look that replaced Bucky’s usual grin made his legs tremble. Whatever Bucky wanted, with that look, Tony would be on his _knees._

“Do you want to know what actually happened? Steve and I grew up together. I stopped his punk ass from getting into fights by cooking him and his ma’--” The Brooklyn accent slipped out lazily, stretching the vowels and turning Tony’s stomach pleasantly warm. 

“-- Dinner every night. So we get to culinary school an’ Steve’s just a teacher’s pet. Meanwhile I have to work twice as hard to get noticed because he’s friggin’ big and blonde and they thought I couldn’t speak english.” 

“So you did your residency in Russia. “ Tony said. 

“ _Da.”_

The grin was back. Tony couldn’t stop looking at his lips. 

Bucky smirked wider. “See something you like?” 

“Mmhmm. “ Tony hummed, with no intention of hidinging it. If only he would lean a bit closer. 

“When I got back,” Bucky continued. “Steve and I happened to make it to the last round of interviews for the same position. He made the recipe exactly. I didn’t. The end.” 

“That can’t be the end.” 

“You’re right. There was only one thing I didn’t do, garnish. There was one living mint plant in the entire kitchen and I didn’t get to it before Steve did. So I didn’t get the job.” 

“That seems a little…” 

“Rigged? Sure.” 

“I was going to say childish.” Tony said. “I’ve done some petty shit in my life, but that takes the cake.” 

Bucky ran a hand through his hair and sighed. The timer sounded for the cake. “Well,” He said. “Go on and take it out of the oven.” 

Tony huffed and stood. “You just want to look at my ass.” 

“Guilty.” 

Tony pulled on the oven mits, slowly. Then bent over, more than explicitly necessary, to open up the oven. He blamed the heat for the flush on his face when Bucky whistled at him. Once he had set the cake on the stove top, he turned to face Bucky again. 

“So why haven’t you worked in a Michelin rated restaurant since then? You’re certainly talented enough.” Tony said, crossing his arms at his chest— then rethinking the motion and propping his palms against the warm stove behind him instead. 

Bucky Stood. The kitchen was suddenly entirely too small as Tony became aware of every step the other man took. When he got close, he pushed up one sleeve, his henley loose enough to get it all the way past his bicep. 

Tony looked into his eyes. He didn’t think that it was a good idea to drool over the man when he was close enough to see exactly where Tony was looking. 

“Look.” Bucky said, moving his arm between them. Thin, reddish lines zig zagged over his arm. They looked like they were beginning to fade, the skin nearly smooth. Tony reached up and traced the skin with shaking fingers. All he could really feel was the muscle underneath. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“I did get to work in a michelin rated restaurant. It was this crazy experimental place with Justin Hammer as the head chef— “ 

“-- That guy’s a pretentious asshole.” 

“Well he wanted me to create this sugar glass to top this insane hybrid of a cupcake and a cannoli. One night I’m in the middle of pouring out the sugar onto a baking sheet and he storms into the kitchen, mad about something or other and just starts pushing people, which in itself is an HR nightmare. The others get him restrained, but not before he pushes one of our bussers into me, shooting molten sugar all over my arm.” 

Tony hissed in sympathy and realized that he was still feeling the muscles of Bucky’s arm as he told the story. He forced his hand away. Tony had to arch his back away from the man to put a couple of inches of space between them, but it wasn’t enough. 

He flinched away from the heat of the oven on his back, and Bucky was quick to scoop one arm around Tony’s waist to pull him away from it- and against his body. 

“That must’ve been painful.” 

“It was.” 

Tony didn’t breathe. Glacier blue eyes threatened to freeze him to his very core. 

“My sleeve caught most of it. But, from that day forward I swore to never work in a kitchen where the head chef couldn’t handle it ever again.” 

Tony looked down at the point where their bodies met, breaking the eye contact. “Sorry to break it to you, but I don’t exactly have the best track record for handling things. What made you come to work for me?” 

A finger underneath Tony’s chin lifted his gaze back up. 

“I respect the hell outta you.”

Tony didn’t know what to say to that. “Thanks.” He breathed. 

Their faces were entirely too close. Tony could feel the warmth radiating from the man’s skin. He could feel a different kind of warmth pooling in his belly. 

Tony didn’t want a single thing in the world than to kiss him right then and there. This man who had quickly become a protector and provider, both inside the kitchen and out. 

Something held him back. A nagging thought considered that there was no way someone as perfect as Bucky wanted someone as broken as Tony was so clearly. Maybe Tony’s brain was being fooled by all the good breakfasts and pastries that Bucky made for him. His mama always said that the way to a man’s heart was through the stomach. But that was an italian thing— he was pretty certain. 

The overthinking interrupted whatever impulse Tony was going to act on— to kiss Bucky or cling to him desperately— and allowed his senses to focus on other things. Like the aroma of the cooling chocolate cake behind him. He perked up suddenly, spinning in the man’s arms to direct his attention back to the cake.

“I can’t get over this cake. I made this.” He gushed. “These smell insane. I bet fresh from the oven cake tastes like nothing else. What if we just dug in with a fork? Do you think that the Lees would mind? I think they’d understand.”

They had used two pans to have a double layered final product, because really, one layer of cake was just sad. And they smelled amazing enough that Tony didn’t realize how Bucky hadn’t stepped away at all, and instead of their fronts meeting, Tony’s ass had rubbed against him in the best way. 

He didn’t notice the sharp inhale Bucky made, or the growl that came after, which he tried to disguise by clearing his throat. 

Tony did, however, notice one hand on his hip that Bucky had placed there to steady himself as his other reached around Tony to turn off the oven. For a split second, he was caged against the it, aware of all of the heat around him, and like the chocolate mixed in with hot coffee, he began to melt. 

Then the heat was gone, Bucky stepping to his side instead. “I don’t think that the Lees would be very happy with you if you ate the cake before it got to them.” 

Tony had forgotten that he had asked a question at all. 

Bucky pulled the oven mitts off of Tony’s hands and picked up the cakes. “These go into the freezer to cool.” 

Tony pouted as the cakes were whisked into the freezer, but his heart was pounding. Tony could do a lot of mental gymnastics. He was _good_ at it. But there were some things that he just couldn’t ignore. 

“Now we make dinner.” 

  
  


So they did. Bucky kept the touching to a minimum while they cooked. It was a simple dinner, a nice cut of steak with garlicky whipped potatoes and a salad. Quick to make and satisfying. 

“I’m almost disappointed you didn’t feed me the first bite.” Tony joked. They had spread out dinner on the other side of the kitchen island from their still dirty cake making station. The night sky through the large windows darkened the rest of the pent house while the kitchen remained well lit and cozy.

“Sorry Doll. Guess I’ll have to make up for it some other time.” He smirked at the other man, and then took a bite of rare steak. 

Tony took a deep breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so… content wasn’t the right word. 

He had sat in this exact spot, hundreds of times, in an empty kitchen, and had never felt like he had with Bucky sitting across from him, legs cramped and touching underneath the kitchen island. There was thought that nagged at the base of his skull, that this all would end and Bucky would go back to his own place, and they would never bake a cake and eat dinner together again. Friends could do that too, couldn’t they? 

Tony watched Bucky drag a piece of steak through the pan sauce they’d made on his plate, watched as it disappeared through plush lips that he so desperately wanted to kiss. 

Bucky caught his eye and winked, then stood to take their dirty plates to the kitchen before Tony had a chance to. 

“I’m the host.” He said, “I can’t let you do the dishes.” 

“What kind of guest would I be if I didn’t help with the dishes?” He said, setting them down in the sink. “Grab the cake out of the freezer, would ya?” 

Tony rolled his eyes and stood. “Yes, Chef.” 

“Got a saucepan?” 

“Yes, chef.” 

“Bread knife?” 

“Yes, Chef.” 

“You’re going to combine all of these ingredients over medium heat, and keep stirring, otherwise you’ll make caramel.” 

“Yes— “ 

Bucky was on Tony in an instant, crowding him up against the counter, one leg shoved in between Tony’s and both hands braced on the counter behind him, caging him in place. 

“Tony.” His voice rumbled lowly. “You’re driving me crazy.” 

Tony could form no rational thought after that. Bucky was everywhere. His voice in his ear, his warmth surrounding him completely. 

“Which part?” His voice was shaking, and his pants had started to become uncomfortable.

“What?” 

“Was it me calling you chef, or me doing everything you asked?” 

Bucky made a sound.

“I just sort of assumed that you would be on the intersection of two pretty common— “ Tony had a talent for rambling, especially in situations like this, were his hands _begged_ to touch, and his hips wiggled of their own accord. “ — And really I can’t be the only one who has felt some tension—” 

“ _Tony.”_

His mouth snapped shut. He lifted his warm whiskey eyes to meet the other man’s. 

Then soft lips were touching his. Tony let every impulse he had previously held at bay, loose and wrapped his arms around the other man’s neck. 

Bucky controlled the kiss, slowly dragging his tongue along Tony’s. And Tony— Tony found himself kissing back like a starved man. Bucky grabbed Tony’s thighs and scooped him up to sit on the counter in one quick motion. He moaned into the kiss, and got closer, spreading Tony’s legs to fit securely between them. 

He pulled away, only to trail maddeningly slow kisses down his neck. Tony moaned and tipped his head back— and it _thunked_ against a cabinet. 

“Ow.” He said with a short laugh. 

“You.” Bucky panted. “Are…” 

“Hot?” 

“Insufferable.” He laughed lowly. “And you talk too much.” 

He took one step away. Then another. He grabbed a recipe card from the kitchen island and handed it to Tony. “Follow the recipe. Don’t let it burn.” 

Tony’s eyes went to his rosy, swollen mouth, over his broad shoulders and lower, to flat his stomach. He scooted off of the counter. 

“Yes, Chef.” 

Tony couldn’t really focus as he made the frosting. Though it wasn’t really frosting so much as a syrupy, coconutty, something. Tony was stirring the concoction, double checking the recipe every few seconds to make sure he hadn’t done anything wrong. He felt a warm body next to him, a little too close. 

“Looks done. Are you ready?” 

Tony furrowed his brows. “I guess?” 

“Okay.” He reached around Tony to turn off the stove top, his other hand going to his hip again, and Tony found that he liked that feeling very much. 

He set the hot pot on a tea towel next to where he had prepared the cake, slicing the rounded parts off so they were level. 

“Scoop the filling on top here, and stack the two halves. Then you just pour the topping over all of it, make sure it gets all over. Easy.” 

That didn’t seem hard. Everything was going fine until it was time to pour the rest of the frosting. It spilled uncontrollably over the top and sides and suddenly, Tony’s brain wasn’t doing a very good job at spreading with one hand and pouring with the other. 

Bucky was at his side in an instant, quickly taking over. He spun the plate and wiped the spatula just so. Soon the cake was covered, efficient and uniform. It was certainly harder than it looked. 

Tony was lucky to have someone as talented as Bucky on his team. 

“It’s a shame that we can’t have any.” Tony grumbled. “Just a piece.” 

“Of course we can.” Bucky said. He gathered up the scraps that he had cut to make the cakes level and dumped whatever filling that was left in the sauce pan ontop. He retrieved a fork and cut into it. There were only a couple of bites there all together, but Tony’s eyes lit up at the sight. 

“Oh, Thank God.” 

The other man lifted the pile to Tony’s lips, and he gladly accepted the bite. Cold, thin cake. Warm, velvety frosting. 

It was so good. 

“We’re adding this to the menu.” Tony moaned. “That is unbelievable.” 

Bucky smiled widely and stole a taste for himself. He nodded. “You did a great job.” 

Tony didn’t know that it was such an accomplishment for him to make a cake, but here he was, absolutely beaming at Bucky’s praise.

He had a sudden idea. It took some digging into his surprisingly deep pantry, but Tony found an old cake holder, one where the bottom crystal podium had been broken and since replaced with dark wood, but the top dome was still intact. The cake went inside and Tony stared at its magnificence. 

“I guess it’s time to wash the dishes.” 

“Oh-” Tony stopped Bucky before he got too close to the sink, grabbing his hand. “I’ll take care of it.” 

The other man narrowed his eyes. “You just want to keep my bowls.” 

“Look.” Tony replied with a roll of his eyes. “You have my express permission to come back to my apartment and pick up your bowls if I forget to bring them back.” 

Bucky scoffed at the word ‘forget’ and eyed the messy kitchen. “Are you kicking me out?” 

“Obviously. You’re the worst house guest ever.” 

Bucky smirked and flipped his wrist around to grab Tony’s instead. His heart skipped at the quick movement, but he had no time to react further as Bucky used his new grip to pull Tony closer. 

“Awe, don’t be like that, doll.” 

“Horrible.” Tony suddenly couldn't breathe. “Just the worst.” 

“Should I kiss it better?”

Tony wanted nothing more for him to do just that, but— all over his body, like a good christian. He couldn’t get any words out, so he nodded, just barely tipping his head. 

Bucky moved his face closer. 

Closer. 

Then he kissed him, there and gone. A firm, soft press of lips, nothing like the kiss they’d shared in the kitchen. 

Tony’s front half was cold again as Bucky took a full step away. “That’s all?” 

Bucky was already rolling down his sleeves and shrugging his jacket back on by the time Tony opened his eyes again. 

“Yeah.” 

“Really?” 

“You don’t get any more kisses until I get my bowls back.” 

Tony laughed. “That’s not fair.” 

“It’s plenty fair.” The other man grinned, walking backwards until he reached the front door. Tony followed him closely, unsure what to do with his hands or his mouth for that matter. Bucky opened the door, but stopped halfway outside of it. 

“Tony?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Don’t eat the cake.” 

He pulled the door shut behind him, and Tony was alone. 

He couldn’t stop smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter tormented me. First Kisses are just. AGH. Let me know how ya'll liked it. My ego took a bruising with this one. In the next Chapter, we have a date with Steve!  
> Chapter title is Adele. :)


	7. If I ever feel better

7

Tony didn’t sleep that night. 

The reason why was probably of a mixture of the coffee he and Bucky had shared much too late in the evening, and the constant butterflies in his stomach everytime their mind blowing kiss in the kitchen replayed behind his eyelids. He’d taken the time that he wasn’t sleeping to clean the entire kitchen until it was gleaming, and to remember Bucky’s hands on his waist. On his hips. Tying the apron around his middle, a bit too tightly. God, the image of him whisking the egg whites to stiff peaks was permanently burned into his memory. 

To his credit, Tony only briefly considered that maybe if he relieved the ache behind his softest pair of lounge pants- maybe he’d get some sleep. But then he didn’t think that was appropriate. He was still technically Bucky’s boss, even if he didn’t really have any power in the kitchen aside from general administration and recipe approval. 

By the time that the morning light filtered through his too tall windows, Tony was cranky. And Late. 

His bedroom door crept open, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Oh Good. You’re awake!” 

Tony took two large breathes. There was something that he was forgetting. Something important. 

“Dr. Banner. Right? If not, I will be forced to use the stun gun I made one night after a couple of episodes of mythbusters and three quarters of a cup of moonshine last year.” 

“Bruce Banner.” The brown haired man wearing a crisp white lab coat said with a small wave. “Pepper mentioned that you might oversleep, so she gave me a key to your place, after an incredibly extensive background check, I might add. She got references from the lady who takes my order at the deli around the corner from my place. Is that normal?” 

Doctor Banner. That's what he was missing. He must have seen the note written on his calendar dozens of times, but he didn’t think it was going to happen this soon. The soft open was on Tuesday and he’d been so focused on getting ready that he had forgotten all about it. 

“Yeah, that sounds like her,” He sat up fully and started to get out of bed, when Dr. Banner stopped him. 

“-Don’t worry! We can replace your bandages right where you are. The bed gives me some extra room to spread out. If you don’t mind that is.” 

“N-No, I don’t. Do your thing.” 

Tony tried to form a coherent sentence. “Nice to meet you, by the way. It’s a shame, I really wanted to see if the stun gun still worked. It delivered way too much voltage last time I used it but…” 

He trailed off after seeing Dr. Banner’s slightly concerned face and busied himself with taking off his shirt and smoothing the blanket out so the doctor had a space to spread his things out. Tony had done his best to keep his bandages dry, sponging off rather than a proper shower- which was so far driving him crazy. 

The doctor made quick work of removing the bandages and Tony picked a spot on the door and stared at it so he wouldn’t glimpse anything vaguely red or fleshy. 

“The good news is,” Banner began after a moment. “You’re healing up nicely. No infection at all. A little bit of redness, but that’s to be expected.” 

“Why’d you say it like that.” Tony said, only barely beginning to panic. 

“Huh? Oh. Well.” He breathed in deeply and took off his glasses to rub his eyes. “You still need to take it slow. I understand that you’re back at work,” 

“—Yeah, but don’t worry. I’m not doing any heavy lifting or-or cooking even.” Tony was quick to say. Steve and Bucky, those two beefcakes didn’t let him do anything in the kitchen. He was stressed, obviously but other than that, Tony hadn’t felt less overworked in a restaurant kitchen-ever. 

Dr. Banner sighed. “I believe you. But you have a complicated injury. You have to be careful.” 

Tony nodded. He had been staring at that same spot on the door as he spoke, and the doctor had in turn looked at him like a middle school teacher telling a kid that he had really ought to get his grades up, and not covering up the mess on his chest with clean gauze.

After what could have been forever, he smeared a salve on Tony’s chest and began to wrap him up again. It wasn’t as tender as he expected. It still stung, but those weeks of healing had done him good.

“How much longer do you think I have with all this?” 

Bruce hummed, testing the tightness of the wrap around Tony’s chest. “A week maybe.” 

“A week? That’s it?” 

“Well, a week before you are good to take a normal shower, do some light lifting. Things like that. It’ll be another week after that until you’ll probably feel normal. The skin is actually the fastest healing organ so you’re making good progress.” 

Tony didn’t like his skin being referred to as an organ. He suppressed a shudder. “That’s good news. Anything else?” 

Dr. Banner was already packing away the things that he brought with him, leaving the used bandages in a waste bag on the floor next to the bed. He looked up at Tony briefly and flashed him a smile. “That’s it. Give me a call if anything changes, but as it is, you’re on the home stretch.” 

“Thank God.” He sighed in reply, flopping back down in bed. He lifted his head to look at the man’s retreating form. “Hey Doc?” 

“Yeah?”

“Call ahead next time.” 

Tony listened closely for the sound of his front door shutting, then used an app on his phone to make sure it was locked. The prospect of being almost healed made his heart do a weird little stutter. He wouldn’t be whole again per say, a couple of scars were to be expected, but it was a step in the right direction. A new restaurant. A new staff. A new menu. A healed body. It was almost too much. 

His phone began to vibrate. The name “Steve Rogers'' flashed across his screen. Funny. He didn’t remember exchanging numbers. Pepper must have done it for him. She was always so on top of things. 

“… Hello?” He winced at the sound of his voice, both too raspy and too loud now that he was alone again. 

“Good afternoon, Tony.” Steve’s voice was clear through his phone.

“Steve.” He said dumbly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I’m picking up a couple of things right now,” He spoke in a hushed voice, and Tony could hear the sound of glass tinkling in the background. A sudden memory flashed behind his closed eyes- Steve’s muscled arms on either side of his body as he murmured steps to proper knife form in Tony’s ear. 

“Do you think that you could meet me at the restaurant for a couple of taste tests? It’ll be wine mostly, but I do have a couple of cocktails to run by you as well.” 

Tony hadn’t had alcohol in such a long time-really it was only a couple of weeks- but his interest was immediately peaked. 

“When did you learn to bartend? Do you have any fancy tricks? Like spinning the bottle on your palm, or using a torch. Please tell me you’ll light a drink on fire today.” 

He chuckled in response and if that alone made Tony grin like an idiot- well no one was there to see it anyway. “Wasn’t planning on using any fire today, but who knows, the night is young.” 

“I’ll accept that. What time did you want to meet?” 

“How’s Three O’clock sound?” 

“Sure. See you then. Ciao.” 

Tony didn’t know what time it was until his phone lit up again. He didn’t look at the text that caused it, but he did see the time. 

1:55. Shit.

He had to get ready. After a quick, disappointingly dry shower, flitting over his closet from outfit to outfit, and shoving a breakfast bar in his mouth while driving, Tony made it to the restaurant. He was still late, but only by a couple of minutes. 

Inside the restaurant, Steve had transformed the kitchen--well kind of. Only a couple of the lights were on, so the others didn’t reflect on every stainless steel surface making everything ridiculously bright. No, instead. The lights were on above the oven, and the ones above the counters. When Tony entered the restaurant, everything was decidedly dim and pleasant. There were coffee beans, various cheeses and nuts, dark chocolate and tomatoes on a charcuterie board, and a dozen empty glasses. 

Some wine bottles were chilled in buckets of ice and some were just sitting out. Steve stood next to all of it. He wore a plain white t-shirt underneath a short jacket, and dark jeans. He looked like something straight out of a magazine, and that wasn’t just the sleep deprivation talking. When Tony walked in and saw the whole set up, he was floored.

“Hey,” He greeted Steve breathlessly.

“Hello.” The blonde man smirked in return. 

Tony tugged on the sleeves of his black t-shirt and hung up his jacket on a nearby hook. “Sorry I’m late I-“ 

Damn it. Tony had forgotten whom he had told his secret to, about his chest. He didn’t need anyone to worry, least of all, his head chef, the guy who literally was his second in command. 

“I had a thing.” He finished vaguely. “This morning. Threw my whole day off. Anyway— What do you have to show me?” 

Steve did this thing with his face, it was a secret smile- barely there, but his amusement lit up his eyes. He got to work uncorking the first wine, twisting the corkscrew and pouring out the tiniest bit of dark red wine in a glass much too big. 

“How was your weekend?” 

“Short.” He blushed slightly remembering the night before. “And sweet. But short, and now I’m back at work.”

“You probably can’t call this work.” Steve replied. “We’re drinking and having snacks. At best.” 

Tony laughed. “You’re right.” 

Steve passed him the glass then poured a tiny amount for himself as well. Tony waited until Steve had tasted the wine, tipping the glass and his head back. He held the wine on his tongue, and Tony watched as his throat worked and he swallowed. 

Tony’s mouth went dry. He busied himself from staring any further by quickly bringing the glass to his lips. This was going to be a long wine tasting. 

“Thoughts?” Steve asked.

Tony was sure that if he hadn’t already swallowed the ridiculously tiny amount of wine, that he would have choked on it instead. 

“Not many? I’m mostly glad that there isn’t a spit bucket, because gross. And should I be swirling this?” 

“Well, we won’t be tasting in that capacity today, so a spit bucket isn’t needed. Swirling the wine more so aerates it and shows you how much alcohol is in it.” 

“That’s a thing?” 

“Yeah, but that’s more complicated than we need to go into right now.” Steve replied, handing Tony a plate with skewers stuck with tomato and mozzarella for him to try. 

“Oh. Oh. That’s different.” 

Steve smiled widely. “That’s why we have to do a tasting. A good wine makes such a big difference.” 

“Okay,” Tony took a deep breath to try and prepare his brain for thinking. He had done so much thinking lately. He secretly hoped that they would taste enough wine for him to numb his senses even a little bit, because he- he’d been through a lot lately. 

“The wine is plumy and-oaky? Is that a word- anyway the tomato is acidic? I think they pair okay. What about you?” 

He really didn’t know. Tony was Italian, but that didn’t mean that he was a wine snob by any measure. When he was growing up, his aunties and uncles had a giant bottle of table wine that they would laugh and drink over until it was gone. He had wine at fancy restaurants in his adult life, but they didn’t inspire anything when he was already tipsy by the time he had sat down. But that was a different time.

“I’m between two. I was going to let you be the tie breaker.” Steve replied, ready with another bottle. He poured some wine into Tony’s cup after a quick rinse and wipe, and he really shouldn’t have looked so good while pouring a bottle one handed.

Tony watched his muscled forearms flex, and nearly missed grabbing the glass that was passed off to him. He cleared his throat and drank the wine slower this time, letting the flavor coat his mouth. 

“It’s sweeter. I like it.” 

“My thoughts exactly.” Steve said, pulling a sharpie from his pocket and marking a thick line through the label on the bottle. “They’re both good choices, so I’ll keep a couple in stock, just in case.”

Tony nodded and absently picked up a couple of skewers of fresh veggies and cheeses to eat. Some were just plain, some were covered in a delectable oil and balsamic vinegar pairing. It was like he was at the boujee-ist baby shower in New York- not actual food, but enough to know that he was snacky. 

A timer sounded. In the silence of Steve rinsing their glasses and wiping them down to prepare them for more wine, Tony could hear a faint sizzle. He looked around. The fryers were empty, and frankly hadn’t been used other than that one-time Sam had made chicken fried steak- which was delicious, but not really suitable for an Italian restaurant, no matter how badly Thor had pleaded. 

The stove tops were off. That left the oven. Steve was already there, pulling out a sheet which wafted more delicious smells into the air out of it with a gloved hand. 

“What’s that?” Tony asked, his eyes following the tray closely. 

“It’s hot.” Steve said. He dumped the contents into a large bowl where they would have space to cool down. 

“I figured since were adding pizza to the menu, we needed some awfully greasy appetizers to go along with it.” The blonde man continued. “Sam whipped these up the other day. They’re like mozzarella sticks, in ball form. They’re mozzarella balls. I don’t know why I didn’t say that to start with.” 

Tony’s eyes were wide and starry- he almost didn’t notice the exhaustion in Steve’s voice. He almost missed the rasp in his voice, even though it was early afternoon and he’d likely been awake all day. He almost didn’t notice the bags under his eyes, and the way that he hadn’t been smiling like he normally was, but his face was neutral, as if he couldn’t muster up much more than a half smirk. Almost. 

“Steve?” 

“The marina sauce, well it’s the one that Clint made, but with a dash more lemon to cut through all the oil.” His hands were moving out of muscle memory, Tony could tell, because he hardly looked at what he was doing at all, eyes darting around the kitchen and nodding, making mental checks, as he dolled heated marinara into ramekins for them to dip. 

“Steve,” Tony tried again. He looked up this time. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” He straightened, blinking. “I have the meat delivery set for Monday, and everyone else scheduled too for one last rehearsal. Then on Tuesday, we’re only open for dinner, not lunch and dinner, so I will be able to get—” 

“—I was more so asking as a friend.” Tony interrupted. “Not a boss. You look…”  _ Terrible _ . “Tired.” 

As if the word triggered all of his fatigue to hit just then, Steve set the ramekins down, instead lifting his arms above his head in a deep stretch that bulged the muscles in his arms, and lifted the hem of his plain shirt to reveal smooth, chiseled muscle there too. 

_ Damn.  _

He’d have to send Pepper a nice bouquet and a tropical vacation package somewhere fancy for her birthday, because she sure knew how to pick ‘em. 

“Oh I’m,” Steve began, settling back to a normal position. “I’m good.”

Tony ducked underneath the counters to look for one of the stools that were always stashed there, and pulled it out. “Here,” He said. “Sit.” 

Steve didn’t protest, sitting heavily and making the sparse metal stool look much comfier than it was. 

Tony’s head swam suddenly as he made another move toward the counter where the mozzarella balls were. He barely had all of one glass total during their tasting. Was a month really long enough to lose his years of tolerance?

“I’m guess I have been a little stressed lately.” Steve began again. He rested his elbow on the counter and his chin in his palm. 

Tony poured what Steve had cued up next into their glasses, then brought those, the bowl of cooling mozzarella balls, and the ramekins of marinara over to where he was seated. He couldn’t find any forks, but he did find the entire bag of large skewers and brought them over too. 

“Worried about the soft open?” He asked, looking at his glass. It wasn’t full, but considering they were having a tasting, it was a little much. Tony eyed Steve next. He looked like he needed it. 

“Not really.” Steve said, sticking a ball of fried cheese in his mouth. 

Good. They were eating now. Tony speared one, inspected the uniformly golden and crispy outside and dunked it in the marinara. 

Oh. It was good. 

“Wait- You aren’t worried about the soft open? Then what’s up with the whole Eeyore thing you’ve got going on?” 

Steve sighed. He lifted the glass of white wine to his lips and took a long drink before answering. “Our staff is amazing. They really work well together and even Natasha is starting to tone down her glares. It’s really more so the back end organization and—Well you know.” 

“It takes more time than you’d think.” Tony agreed. 

“I’ll be fine after Tuesday.” Steve looked at him and smiled with straight teeth. “How are you?” 

Tony’s breath caught. He was so gorgeous that his face almost hurt to look at. He downed the rest of his wine. 

“Good.” He said. “That was good. I should have you pick out some wines for me. Trust me, I’ve been to plenty of fancy restaurants with shit wine and everyone just tolerates it. How are you so good at this?”

“Everyone’s been a bartender at some point in their lives.” He shrugged. “I’ll make you a deal. If we make it past Tuesday and everyone still has a job by the end of it, we’ll go out for drinks.” 

Tony flushed. “Just the two of us?” 

“Yeah.” Steve stretched again and stood. “How else can we gossip about the staff.” 

“Sit down. You’re exhausted, I can take over the rest.” Tony reached out to stop him with a hand on his bicep. 

Steve would not be stopped, and now they stood closer to each other than was probably necessary. 

“Are you any good at making cocktails?” 

If last year’s Christmas party taught him anything, it was that Tony was heavy handed when he poured out liquor. Flavors and balance, even ice went out the window- literally. 

“Fine,” He mumbled, squeezing past the other man to take his seat. “But it better be good.” 

Steve laughed and shook his head. Everything was already laid out for him to use, like he had prepped all this for some sort of cooking show. If Steve was anything, he was prepared. Tony couldn’t ask for a better head chef. 

The blonde paused over by his stash. “You know, I was going to just make a bloody mary, but that’s a little bit predictable. We already use so many tomatoes.” 

Tony wrinkled his nose. “Savory Alcoholic smoothies aren’t really my thing.” 

“Noted.” Steve leaned against the counter behind him and crossed his arms. “So, you come in from a long day of work. You want good food and a satisfying drink. What do you order?” 

“I want an afternoon mimosa.” He said immediately. “Peachy, zesty, but sophisticated. Sexy, Mysterious,” 

He was just listing words now. The longer he sat there, the more he could feel the wine soak into his brain and vocal chords. Wine drunk was a different kind of drunk, he realized. Steve laughed, and it sent his heart into overdrive. 

“How about a peach mojito?” 

“That’s a little summery, don’t you think?” 

Steve looked at what he had laid out, then around the kitchen. “Peach… ginger and cloves. Lemon instead of lime and without the mint?” 

“Like a peach cobbler in a drink. I like it.” 

Steve flashed another one of his beautiful smiles and got to work. “You know, it’s worth nothing that peaches aren’t in season right now, but there is this small batch syrup that I like to use.” 

Tony grinned. The other man peeled ginger with a spoon, chopped it into large slices and muddled it with cloves at the bottom of a glass. Syrup and rum went into a shaker, and soon the drink was done. Steve handed it off to Tony to try first, and the smell hit him before anything else. 

He groaned at the taste, feeling his cheeks heat at the alcohol. “That’s amazing. I don’t care what we’ll pair it with, but it’s going on the menu.” 

Steve laughed, pulling a small notebook out of somewhere to jot down the recipe. Tony couldn’t get over how prepared he was. And polite. Steve was polite. Tony wanted to untuck his shirt, and crease it. Or something—he wasn’t sure yet. 

He stood. And wobbled.

“You alright over there?” 

“Oh, I’m golden.” Tony felt good. He held the glass out to Steve, right against his lips. “Wanna try some?” 

Steve grabbed the glass before he chipped a tooth. “If you wanted a kiss you could have just asked.” 

“I-uh. I didn’t-” Tony sputtered, at a loss for a response.

“Sharing a glass?” He purred. “That’s first base right?” 

Tony stepped- and wobbled again. Steve’s arm shot out and wrapped around his waist to steady him. His eyes caught Tony’s as he lifted the glass to his mouth, then set it down on the counter that held their weight. He pulled his lower lip into his own mouth, raking his lips across it once, making it red and glossy. 

“Spicy.” Steve breathed. “Good on a cold night.”

Tony was close enough to smell his cologne, and that paired with the strong arm around his waist and the alcohol in his system was enough to make him want to do something really stupid. 

Or amazing. 

The delivery door to the kitchen opened. Steve didn’t move at first, his heated gaze burning into Tony’s for a moment longer before he let go. 

Tony looked to the door where Bucky had closed it behind him. He went still.

“What are you doing here?” He greeted Tony, wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug that lifted him off of the ground and made his world turn as his feet touched down again. Bucky took one look at Tony’s flushed face, then to the bottles of wine and various liquors around them. 

“Should you be drinking?” He asked him lowly. 

Tony didn’t have an answer for him. He shrugged. Bucky looked over his shoulder at Steve.  “You tryna’ to get him drunk?” 

“It’s a wine tasting, Buck. They don’t have those in Russia?” 

“You don’t want me to kick your ass in front of your boss, do you?”

“No one’s fighting anyone.” Tony slurred. “Steve, be nice and make Bucky that new cocktail.” 

“We didn’t drink that much." His eyebrows narrowed. “Are you usually a lightweight? You should have told me.” 

“I haven’t been a lightweight since college.” Tony said. “I feel fine.” 

“Have you eaten today?” Bucky asked. 

Tony had to think about that. He woke up late, and then had his appointment with Bruce, and after that it was time to come to the kitchen. He must have taken too long to answer, because Bucky sighed loudly and reached above his head to grab a stainless-steel pan. 

“We had food!” He defended himself. “Little crudités and mozzarella balls!” 

“That’s not enough.” Steve said, crossing his arms. He moved straight past him to fill a clean wine glass with water all the way to the top. 

“Drink that.” He said, pointing to Bucky. “Monte Cristo?” 

“You’re not on the clock. Don’t tell me what to do.” 

“I’ll make the batter. Do we still have bread?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, muttering a quick ‘yes chef’ before darting around the kitchen to grab ingredients. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before the sandwich was done, and it was enormous, made with wide whole grain bread, meat and cheese, then dunked and fried like French toast. 

Steve cut it diagonally for him, and then in half again so the pieces were more manageable. “Eat.” 

Tony didn’t have a problem with that. At all. The two men stared at him as he ate. 

“You guys are making me feel weird.” He said to break the silence. 

“Tony, you can't just not eat.” Steve said, exasperated. 

“I forgot. It happens.” He replied, mouth full. 

“I can’t believe you drank on an empty stomach.” Bucky was laughing now. “It’s a good thing I showed up when I did, or else you would have gotten trashed. Day drinking too? I didn’t think our date went that badly last night.” 

Tony stiffened. It was Steve’s turn to laugh. 

“Of course, you showed him a bad time,” He said, grabbing Tony’s clean hand suddenly. “Sweetheart, let me take you out so I can show you a good time.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “We had an amazing time. You’re just jealous you didn’t get to him first.” 

“It’s not my fault you’re fast.” 

“Fast? Did you just call me a slut in grandpa slang?” 

Feeling a little more sober since eating his sandwich, Tony caught up to the conversation that was happening around him. Bucky didn’t look particularly upset. His smirk was pulled wide, like he was holding back a laugh, and he leaned into the banter. Across from him, Steve was smiling hugely, his shoulder shaking in a mostly silent laugh. 

Neither of them seemed any kind of concerned that he may want to do incredibly explicit things to the other, and honestly, Tony was a little confused.

“The cake.” He said suddenly. “I forgot to drop off the cake.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh. Here we are 4k words later. Hope you like the chapter! Title is Phoenix :)


End file.
